Lover Dearest
by privatephilosopher
Summary: How much would you sacrifice for the person you loved?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Glee and I don't want to, either. Title taken from _Lover Dearest_ by Marianas Trench.

**A/N:** Sorry if there are mistakes. Didn't have time to edit.

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><p><strong>Lover Dearest<strong>

**Prologue**

The world was nothing more than a silent, black and white film.

There was no grey. No midtones. No in-between. Just the startling contrast of luminosity and darkness; the delicate play of light and shadow. From my point of view in the obscure spot by the gym doors, everything looked disquietingly clear and sharp.

I could see everyone from where I stood: the toga-clad graduates, my classmates, arranged in the descending order of the alphabet. I could see the faculty, all looking sharp in their monkey suits and dresses, chatting amongst themselves, trading secrets collected from yet another year completed. I could see the families, the parents, the guests, all here to celebrate the end of one chapter of their children's lives, and the exciting transition to the next.

My eyes lifted from ground level up to the makeshift stage, a banner draped across: William McKinley High's 78th Commencement Exercises.

Graduation. My graduation. Our graduation. _Their graduation._

Principal Figgins didn't waste time approaching the microphone to announce the start of the ceremony. But I heard nothing of what he said. All I could see was his mouth moving as words formed over his tongue and escaped through his lips. It didn't matter though. Nothing anyone said really mattered much anymore, as long as they weren't _her_.

The guest speaker gave a five-minute speech that was probably filled with severe misquotations, one that also probably failed to inspire anyone in the crowd. I don't know, my mind was shut off so I was immune to everything he said. I didn't care enough to listen.

I tried scanning the crowd to get a glimpse of her, but there were too many students obscuring my limited view. Pissed that I wouldn't be able to see her until she walked across the stage, I settled in to observe the rest of the event in silent agony.

After what seemed like a lifetime, during which I did nothing but hunch over and stare blankly into space, the graduates began to march across the stage to get their diplomas. My spine straightened when I say Blaine walk across the stage, beaming in his signature positive manner. When he got his diploma and waved it in the air, I saw Kurt grinning proudly. Rachel was difficult to miss, she leaped across the stage and practically threw herself at the diploma. I heard she was prepared to move to New York with Kurt and Blaine, where the trio would attend Columbia University in the fall. Chang came soon after, smiling broadly when his diploma was handed to him. Q accepted her diploma, her pink hair fading back into their natural golden shade. She was wearing that silent, regal smile she wore when she felt truly proud about something. I decided to clap for her; after all, if anyone deserved my admiration, it was her. Finn looked incredibly large when he got his diploma, smiling good-naturedly in that Finn-esque manner no one could imitate; it was annoyingly cute and adorable. Kurt moved with incredible poise, and from where I stood I could see the sincere joy in his eyes, armed with the knowledge that he finally made it through high school.

Pretty soon, it was _her_ turn to get her diploma. When she came into my field of vision, it was like coming to life again: everything near her seemed to gradually regain color. Sound began to penetrate my dull mind, and I could hear when Figgins called out, "And your class president… Brittany Pierce!"

She bounded across the stage like a graceful panther, the graduates leaping to their feet to clap and whistle. I couldn't help it, I smiled and clapped as loud as I could, too. She smiled at the room then, getting her diploma and bowing at us. I could see her saying _thank you, thank you,_ over and over, her face glowing with pride.

I felt pride, too, so much I almost couldn't contain it. She graduated. She made it.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away rapidly. When she got off the stage I was reduced back to my earlier lifeless form, like an electron returning to ground state. I contemplated leaving right then, but I remembered that the New Directions were slated to close the ceremony with a musical number. It was Rachel – as expected – who suggested performing _I Sing the Body Electric_ from the musical _Fame_. I knew it would break my heart to watch them go on stage without me, but I needed to see her one last time. I didn't know what her plans were after graduation, where she would go to chase her dreams. I needed to see her as much as I could today, especially if it was going to be the last time I would be able to.

The number was fantastic and ground-breaking. She was amazing, transformed into a alluring persona bursting with color and sound. It tore my heart to not be there with them, to not be there with her, giving the performance of a lifetime. And as I watched them get off the stage, laughing with the high of success, I felt intrusive, almost like an outsider watching a scene that my eyes were never meant to see. I was standing outside an enclosed universe full of happiness, peering into the emotions that my cold, lonely heart wanted so badly to feel, but couldn't. I watched as the New Directions – complete now, since the other younger members of the club had joined the graduates – gathered in a corner as parents took pictures. I stared in silence as they embraced each other, sharing moments I would never be part of. I felt the lump growing in my throat when Mr. Schuester was hoisted up on the shoulders of Finn, Puck, and Mike, his face joyful, his smile radiant. When Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes began to sing a song, it didn't take long for Quinn, Tina, Blaine and… her, to break into a dance. Artie was with Rory, the kid her family adopted over summer from Europe, both applauding from nearby, looking like they truly belonged.

It was the epitome of glee, the embodiment of everything we've wanted to achieve. And I wasn't part of it.

My eyes focused on the only colored fragment in the scene, her blonde hair bouncing in time to every dance move she pulled off. I watched the exhilaration growing on her face, the most beautiful expression I'd ever seen. Then for a moment her expression dropped and she searched the crowds around her, like she was looking for someone. When her eyes swept over the entrance of the gym, I hid myself behind a door, my heart pounding in my chest. Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I wondered if she was wondering where I was, how I was, what I was doing.

Steeling myself against the bitter onslaught of tears that threatened to reveal all the tiny bits of emotion deep inside, I pushed myself off the door. Mustering as much dignity as I could, I walked down the empty hallway towards the school exit. With each heavy step I took, I willed myself not to think, not to remember, not to feel.

But when I finally made it into the sanctuary and privacy of my car, I saw the flash of sparkling blue in my mind, the gleam of her grin burning like a million stars fusing into one.

The tears just came then. And for once, I didn't bother to fight them.


	2. I Wish We Could Stay Here, Forever Alone

**A/N: From this point onwards, each update will be a flashback.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: I wish we could stay here, forever alone.<strong>

It was the night before the first day of senior year, and Britt was staying over.

We were having dinner with my silent, stone-faced parents, who were utterly indifferent to us. Physically, their bodies were there, but for most part it felt like absent presence. It didn't bother me, though: there were so many boundaries that separated us, physically and emotionally. I was so used to fending for myself that my parents just felt like strangers I shared a house with. Sometimes I even preferred it when we ignored each other like this; talking led to arguing, which usually escalated to deafening shouting matches between my father and me.

Brittany, though, was another matter. Her gaze kept flicking up from her plate to the two adults in the room, her eyes looking back and forth at them quizzically. "San, are your parents zombies?" Brittany used to ask me when we were children, and I could almost hear the question running through her mind. Tonight, though, right after dinner, she asked another question in her signature toneless voice:

"San, are you adopted?"

I felt my breath hitch slightly, and I glanced at my parents briefly to observe for any reaction. Secretly disappointed when they didn't respond in any manner, I answered with a short, "No."

"Oh." She replied. For a moment she said nothing, then in a lower voice she whispered, "Then I don't get it. Why don't your parents ever talk to you?"

I looked at her then, and her eyes were filled with so much concern it filled my heart with painful longing. "It's complicated, B."

"How can it be so complicated?" She countered, pouting. "You're the awesomest girl in the world. If you were my child I'd talk to you, like, all the time."

Her words twisted my internal organs in sheer agony, but I kept the pain locked deep inside. I didn't want to upset her. So instead I smiled at her logic, before joking, "Seriously? You want to be my mom?"

I didn't mean it, but her expression automatically faded into one of sheer horror. Before I could reassure her that I was just kidding around, she leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek. "I'm sure it would be great to be your mom, San." She whispered into my ears. "But that's not at all what I want to be for you."

I felt my cheeks reddening, before she laid another soft kiss to the shell of my ear. When she pulled back, her face was shining with pure adoration, it was difficult not to throw myself into her arms and kiss her senseless.

"What. Was. That."

The sound of my father's crisp voice pulled me back into the real world like a stone crashing into tiny pieces after a fall from a great height. I suddenly felt afraid, afraid to see his face, afraid to look him in the eye. "Santana." He said, his voice now as cold as ice, creeping over me like a cloud, seeping into my bones. It sent alarm bells ringing in my head.

"Yeah?" I croaked, trying to find the courage to meet his gaze. I could feel Brittany's fear, and I wanted to shield her from the hell I knew was about to be unleashed.

"Dammit! Look at me when I talk to you." He snapped, slamming his fist into the table. My mother said nothing, keeping her eyes set on the table before her. Beside me, Brittany jumped in her seat, startled at his sudden outburst.

"Papa," I bit back a frustrated sigh, shutting my eyes. "Papa, please. Don't."

"Don't you dare tell me what to do in my own house!" He roared, rising to his feet. I leapt to my feet as well, fury boiling before I could control it. Our gazes locked, his expression ugly.

"San." Brittany whimpered beside me, clutching the table with her hands. She hated aggression. I felt conflict growing in my head: protect Brittany or defend myself? "San." She repeated in a smaller voice. I made a decision then. I couldn't help it.

"Go to my room." I murmured from the corner of my mouth, breaking my staring contest with my father to look at her. She was looking at me with an expression that clearly said no-way-in-hell-am-I-leaving-you-with-this-crazy-guy. "Brittany." I pleaded, dropping my voice and softening my face. I reached over and touched her cheek. "Go to my room, please."

She looked close to tears, but she nodded and stood up quickly, before dashing towards my bedroom. When I looked back at my father his face was red with anger and I could almost hear the expletives exploding in his head.

I let his angry words wash over me like tidal waves, his perfect Spanish echoing across the house. _Sin, sin, sin,_ he repeated over and over, until even the walls seemed to be screaming the word at me. _Whore, bitch, tramp, slut._ He said so many things, and although I could feel the sting of humiliation and heartbreak numbing me, I chose to remain silent while he continued on his tirade.

I only responded when he mentioned Brittany. When he growled _that stupid blonde is turning you into a dyke_ I blew up like a dam breaking under pressure, yelling back at him. He seemed sickly satisfied that I was fighting back, so he continued to insult Brittany in condescending Spanish before I slapped my palm across his face. When his fist connected with my cheek, I fell against the table, and my mother looked away. When I regained my balance, I stumbled towards my room.

She was sitting on my bed when I locked the door behind me, breathing heavily. When I looked at her, the tears streaking down her face and the sadness dimming her eyes, I felt like my entire spirit was being crushed.

"Don't cry." I murmured, rushing to her, wrapping my arms around her. "Please, please don't cry."

Brittany continued to sniff, letting out little whimpers, but she put her arms around me and pulled me closer, so her face was pressed into my stomach.

"It's okay," I repeated over and over, running my fingers over her yellow hair. "He can't hurt you. I won't let him hurt you. You're safe, B, I promise."

She pulled back abruptly and peered up into my face. When she saw the bruise there, she touched it lightly with the tips of her fingers, saying in a tiny voice, "But he hurt you, San. He hurt you." I almost replied that I was used to it. But when she added, "And it was my fault. All my fault," my heart broke.

I embraced her tightly. "B, it's not your fault, alright? My father is a fucking judgmental asshole. That isn't your fault, alright?"

Later on, when we were both settled in the bed, her hand went searching into the darkness before they found mine. She entwined our fingers together, holding on tightly. For a long moment she said nothing, but just as I was able to drift off she muttered, "I want to graduate this year."

My eyes flew open, and even in the darkness I could see the resolve shining in her eyes.

"I want to graduate this year." She repeated, her voice louder, stronger.

"You will." I reassured her, squeezing her hand in mine.

Her eyes lingered over my face, before she whispered, "I need to graduate."

I didn't know what she meant, so I held my breath and waited for her to continue. I watched her swallow, before she added in a considerably softer tone,

"I want to get away from it all, San. All the judgment and stuff. Especially in this stupid little town."

I propped myself on one elbow, frowning. I wasn't sure what she meant by "it all," but I knew it wasn't in my place to ask. "You'll graduate." I whispered. "I'll help you, B. I promise. You'll graduate. I swear on it."

She smiled then, and it felt like a rainbow appearing in the morning after a night of storm. "Thank you, San." She said softly, closing her eyes. "You're my best friend." She added, drowsiness already injecting into your voice. "Love you."

Only when her breathing had evened out in the way that made me know she was really sleeping did I finally whisper, "I love you too, Brittany. So much."


	3. It Hurts Me To Say I Want You To Stay

**A/N: Contains some spoiler alerts/rumors, though some elements are my personal suspicions.**

**Again, not edited. Sorry in advance.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two [Part One]: It hurts me to say that I want you to stay…<strong>

A month into senior year, there were about a million different things I had to do. It was like holding a thousand pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and rushing to piece them all together.

One large chunk of the puzzle was Brittany's campaign for class president, which was at its peak. It was difficult not to resort to grabbing students by their collar – particularly those wimpy freshmen – and threaten them into voting for her. But Brittany refused to do dirty politics, and she didn't need it, either. Running against Kurt and some math geek, she was topping all the polls. It seemed pretty clear that practically everyone was rooting for her. Her campaign was admittedly bizarre, with the rainbow-haired unicorn and all, but everyone loved her. It was difficult not to.

Cheerios was another portion of my massive puzzle. Both Brittany and I were back on the squad, and I'd made co-captain, with the surprisingly vicious Becky Jackson. Between the two of us, everyone had expected me to be the insanely pushy and unrelentingly mean leader, but Becky filled that position in just fine. She'd taken Coach Sylvester and channeled her perfectly everyday at practice. That left me to be the calm pacifier, a role I had absolutely no experience in - outside of Brittany - and it made me feel like I was walking outside my own skin. It would have been so much easier to be as brutal as Becky, but on that one week when I was, half the squad quit within the first ten minutes of practice. It took Brittany's careful coaxing for all of them to come back, almost two weeks later. I had to content myself with being passively aggressive, which honestly was no fun at all. But Brittany seemed to prefer it, so the attitude stayed.

Then there was Quinn. Cold, distant, untouchable. It seemed that over the summer, she'd stumbled across the phrase "drastic makeover" and taken it to heart. The Quinn Fabray Brittany and I comforted back in New York was transformed into this enigmatic pink-haired gothic persona. Everything about her reminded me of this character from the Steig Larsson Trilogy: the way she dressed, the way she walked, the blank look she'd give us when we tried to talk to her. But most of all, the way she was like a ghost, difficult to get a hold of and constantly absent. Especially from Glee Club.

Speaking of. There were so many tiny separate events happening in New Directions that I couldn't keep track of everything anymore. We had a new member, a freshman named Rory, an Irish lad Brittany's family had adopted from Europe during their two-week vacation there. Chang was being pressured by his parents to quit the club, ever since he went and landed himself an A- (so-called Asian F. Seriously, what is it with these Asians and their freaking intelligence) in a chemistry test. Rachel and Kurt were looking into colleges in New York, which piqued my interest, though I told no one about it.

Since Quinn wasn't around, Kurt's transferee boyfriend took it upon himself to attempt to fill the gaping hole she'd left behind. Not that anyone could take Q's place, in my opinion. I wouldn't be surprised if the first few weeks Blaine Anderson spent in Glee Club were the worst of his life: I kept finding ways to make him feel thoroughly unwelcome. It annoyed the hell out of everyone in the club, but only Brittany understood why I was doing it. She had whispered to me one time as we were walking from rehearsals to practice: "You really miss Q, don't you?"

I ignored her comment, but that only made her smile even more. She looked around to see if anyone was around, before swooping in and laying a chaste kiss on my cheek. That made me smile.

By far, the most important part of my puzzle was keeping my promise to Brittany. Every Wednesday and Friday, no matter how exhausted we were from practice, or campaigning, or Glee Club, I'd be at her house at 7PM sharp, armed with books and notes I'd made myself. I taught her everything I understood from Algebra to English to Physics. We would read and rephrase everything so that Brittany could understand it on her own terms. The test Mike Chang got an Asian F on? She'd earned a B+. That, as she called it, was "Brittany A."

On the day when we learned our results for that test, Brittany gave me this really wonderful smile that made my heart bubble with happiness. I really wanted to kiss her then, in front of the whole Glee Club, regardless of the consequences. I felt extremely brave for a split second, and Brittany could see it in my eyes. But just as I began to lean forward, Blaine walked in dripping from a slushie facial, muttering about homophobic football players. I drew back, barely catching the look of hurt that flashed in her eyes. When I got home that night, I buried my face in my pillow and cried my heart out.

Because I wanted to, so fucking badly. For her part, she was waiting patiently, not trying to force me into anything. But as the time kept ticking by, it became more and more difficult to look into her eyes, because I could see all the questions there, the broken expectations and the disappointed longing.

I was such a stupid coward, still so scared, so conscious of the external world. Every night I asked myself the same questions: "Why are you holding back? Why are you still afraid? Isn't she worth everything?"

And every night, I received the same answers. I knew she was worth everything. She was the only thing I needed – but I craved the approval of people like oxygen. She was the only person who could truly make me happy – but I still felt as though I didn't really deserve her. It all felt like a sick, cruel joke. I was beckoning her with one hand and pushing her away with the other.

Everything changed, though, in Sectionals. We performed a medley of two songs with the word "Someday" in the titles (Mr. Schue and his weird song choices), finishing everything off with an original song Mike, Blaine and Puck wrote, about chasing your dreams and following your heart. It was pretty impressive. And the judges were obviously pretty impressed, too.

When we were announced as the winners, everything was an indistinct blur of bright colors and vibrant sounds. I found myself hugging Rachel and high-fiving Blaine – but when I turned around and saw Brittany embracing Artie, my whole world seemed to freeze.

I felt myself moving. I stopped myself from thinking twice, from focusing on anything else. I had developed tunnel vision, and at the end of the tunnel was Brittany, no one else.

When she saw me approaching her, she leapt to her feet, beaming brightly. I didn't give her any choice.

I just kissed her.


	4. But It Might Be Alright If You Go

_**A/N:**_ _**I have a feeling you guys will hate me after this. Long-ish, and a bit fast-paced, but hey. Life's like that. Catches you off guard at the worst moment. Again, unedited. Thank you so much to the readers who review.**_

**Chapter Two [Part Two]:** **…but it might be alright if you go.**

It was very rare for me to feel brave.

And I don't mean the kind of "bravery" that involved doing extremely stupid things like jumping from roof to roof as a proof of badassery (grade school. Puck dared me to), or sneaking liquor into school and spiking the drinking water system (high school. Again, Puck – this time we collaborated though). Those things were all for show. Those were the things I used to do to make people realize I was a force they simply could not mess with. And, for most part, it worked: people stayed clear of me, avoided me, called me a tough bitch in tones of fear and respect.

But bravery? The real kind? That was something else.

It was something I never really understood properly. But at that moment after winning Sectionals, with Brittany's arms wrapped around my waist, my arms tight around her shoulders, the New Directions cheering all around us, I felt brave. I felt invincible, like I could take on the entire world with Brittany by my side and emerge victorious.

I felt like every moment in my entire life had built towards this moment, as though this was the peak and everything was just a lot of low. This was the moment I was born to experience, the moment that would redefine everything. This was the moment where everything felt crystal clear, like everything was falling into place, like all the pieces which had initially seemed isolated and incoherent had finally come together.

"Santana." Brittany gasped when she pulled away, her face flushed and her chest heaving. Her face was a masterpiece, the different lights of the stage casting shadows across her flesh, emphasizing every plane and dimple, highlighting a magical blend of so many emotions: shock, triumph, confusion, uncertainty, but above all, happiness. Happiness I had longed for so long to be the cause of, happiness that had nothing to do with the trophy Mr. Schue was busy waving around in the air ecstatically. Winning was great, but this, right here, right now? It eclipsed everything else that had ever happened to - and because of - me.

"I can't believe you just did that." She murmured, leaning her forehead against mine and inhaling deeply. It was amazing. There was still so much noise around us but I could hear her perfectly clear, as though there was a tunnel straight from her lips to my ears. Her voice, soft and joyful, was a music I'd never heard really fully before, sinking into my skin and rushing to my heart, forcing it to beat on and on and on.

"I'm tired of hiding." I murmured back, closing my eyes at the honestly burning in my words. It was true. There were still so many things I was afraid of – but seeing her with Artie made me realize that losing her was my greatest fear of all. I wasn't about to let it happen.

She smiled and pressed a softer kiss on my lips. "I'm so happy." She admitted, silent tears suddenly making their way down her cheeks. "San, I'm so happy, it scares me."

I laughed softly, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her tightly to me. "Me, too, Britt." I inhaled deeply, her scent washing across my senses, renewing every single corner of my being. "I've never been happier in my entire life."

She beamed at me, just as the audience around us began to make their way to the exits. In the distance I could hear Mr. Schuester calling for us to get backstage to change out of our outfits so we could go out and celebrate, but I couldn't care less if he was telling us that we'd won a billion dollars and a trip to all the wonders of the world.

Brittany was worth more than all the money in the whole damn world, and to me she was the most amazing wonder in the universe. Nothing could top that.

"We should go." She giggled. "Mr. Schue's calling for us."

"'Don't care." I mumbled, smiling. "He could leave us here if he wanted. I have everything I need."

She made a cute smile. "That's really sweet, San." She paused. "But I'm really hungry and my feet are starting to hurt." She paused, pouting. "Did Achilles wear heels, San? If he did, I'd totally understand why his heels were his weak spot."

I laughed, pulling back. I swung one arm around her waist and began to walk her to the stage door to the backstage. "No, he didn't." I told her, smiling. "But I get your point. These heels are killing my feet, too."

We spent the rest of the evening with the New Directions, eating a fully-paid dinner at Breadstix. For once, I didn't even bother to eat that much of the breadstix, instead contenting myself to watch Brittany as she ventured in and out of conversations, interacted with the rest of the club, and talked about her platform on taking away the slushie machines in the school, as well as the mechanics of the rainbow candy distribution every Friday, while the song _Friday_ played. It was amusing, but for most part it was just amazing. She was amazing, and breathtakingly so.

It was perfect. But everything usually looks perfect from far away.

Almost four hours after winning, we all decided to head home. The rest of the New Directions took separate cars or were picked up by their parents, and Finn had volunteered to drop Rory off at the Pierce's for us. Britt and I decided to walk to her home. It wasn't that far away, and we were both looking for an excuse to spend time alone. In hindsight, it was probably a really, really stupid idea. I mean, walks in the moonlight were romantic and all, but I should have factored in the variables "small town" and "homophobic town" before I concluded that it was safe.

"So, can I call you my girlfriend now?"

"You can call me anything you want." I assured her, squeezing the hand inside mine. She smiled.

"I feel like there's this fire inside me that keeps making me warm." She sighed, smiling up at the sky. She stopped walking all of a sudden, pulling her hand form mine. Cupping them around her mouth, she yelled into the dark, open sky, "Hello world! Santana Lopez is my girlfriend!"

I laughed at her adorable antics. In the back of my mind I was amazed that I wasn't frightened, or worried, about any of this. I was completely free of the burden of being afraid of the world.

Then I felt something hard break against the back of my head.

I whipped my head around in shock, receiving another object – I realized it was an egg – directly in my face. It was utterly nerve-wrecking and disorienting, like a cold bucket of liquid nitrogen hurled over my body.

"Here you go, full serving of eggs. I hear that's what you like, right?" What felt like a bucketful of eggs was suddenly dropped on my head, the thin shells splitting open at the impact. Cold, yellow egg yolk began to trail down my face, my mind too shocked to even try to retaliate. I understood the implications and the innuendo clearly, and quite frankly it disgusted the hell out of me.

_Fight,_ my system screamed at me._ Fight back, no one messes with Santana Lopez, no one messes with Santana Lopez, no one messes…_

Brittany screamed.

For the second time that night, my entire body just seemed to freeze. "Brittany!" I yelled into the night, trying to clear the yellow dripping blocking my view. "BRITTANY!"

"I thought you liked pussy?" I heard a voice calling out tauntingly to her. The stench of burning meat suddenly filled my nose trills, and I felt sick to my core. "Well, this is freshly cooked cat. Isn't that the sort of thing you eat out?"

_Oh, God, no. __**Fuck, no.**_ Giving up on clearing my view, I followed the sound of the voice, ramming my left fist in a jab as hard as I could. When I felt it connect against a body, I sent my right hand in a straight, hitting the body again. I packed everything I had in a horizontal elbow I sent to the space where I imagined his head to be. When I heard the sickening crunch of breaking cartilage, I finished with a vertical knee to the place where his crotch should be.

"NO!" Two strong arms wrapped around my midsection and hoisted me upwards. I didn't even realize I was yelling, all I could hear was the sound of Brittany sobbing nearby.

I was tossed unceremoniously to the side, and I hear someone mutter, "Shit, the cops!" before the sound of feet crunching on soil filled the air. "Fuck, get Dan, he's bleeding all over the fucking place!" someone was hissing loudly.

"NO! Leave him, leave him, we gotta get outta here," another voice snapped. "His fault for being such a damn wimp, couldn't even handle attack from a fucking dyke. I told you he was going to fail his fucking initiation, the stupid little bitch."

The soil from the ground was sticking to my yolk-covered hands, and I wiped it as thoroughly as I could on the material of my denims. The sound of police sirens combining with the painful slam car doors closing and tires screeching filled the air, and I began to wipe my face on the sleeves of my shirt. "Brittany?" I called out hoarsely, my throat raw. My eyes were unfocused for a moment, before I managed to see everything around me clearly.

She was curled in a ball around twenty meters ahead, rocking back and forth. The boy I'd attacked – I assumed he was named Dan – was moaning in agony around five feet away. I kicked him in the shin, just to make sure he would be too immobilized to escape before the police arrived. Then I bolted towards Brittany, wrapping my arms around her and shielding her with my body.

"I'm so sorry," rushed out of me, as I rocked her back and forth. "Oh God, Brittany, I'm so sorry." She began shaking her head, making high-pitched gasping sounds that told me she was about to hyperventilate. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," I rambled out, looking around for something to use to contain her breathing. Just as a full-blown panic attack was going to hit her, the squad cars parked around the edge of the sidewalks, and policemen began to run towards us.

"Is everything alright? What happened?" A man in uniform called out, running to me.

"Paper bag," I cried out desperately. "Plastic bag. Something. Jesus, she's hyperventilating here."

A paramedic rushed towards us, paper bag in hand. He carefully pried Brittany away from her locked position, before applying the bag to her face.

"Miss, what happened?" The policeman asked again. Someone threw towel over me, keeping me warm.

"I…" I didn't even know how to explain it. I mean, fuck, I didn't even know what happened. It just fucking happened. "We were attacked." I finished lamely.

The policeman nodded. "Alright, miss…?"

"Santana." I supplied, wondering for a brief moment how this whole scene must look to him: a hysterical girl hyperventilating in one corner, a bleeding boy in another, a girl covered in soil and broken eggs talking to him, the smell of meat filling the air. "Santana Lopez."

"Oh, Doctor Lopez's child." He replied. He gestured towards Brittany. "And that is…?"

"Brittany. Brittany Pierce. She's my –" The word died in my throat.

"I see." He murmured thoughtfully, nodding. He gestured to the boy on the ground. "I assume this was your attacker."

"I –" My mind was unraveling at a rapid pace. It just hit me. _We were attacked._ It was no random, harmless attack either. They knew who we were, what we were. They made that perfectly clear. _Motherfucker,_ my mind was sprouting out in panic. _Motherfucker, motherfucker, motherfucker._

"Santana, stay with me here." His voice called out, snapping me back into reality.

"One of many." I answered. "It was a hate crime." I blurted out, shock filling my system as the words left my mouth.

He nodded again. "I thought as much."

"It was also an initiation." I added, clinging to the conversation I overheard while they were rushing to escape. "He was being initiated." I tossed my head towards the boy's direction, wrapping my arms around myself and holding on tightly. "I think his name is Dan." I whispered, my throat constricting.

The policeman looked over to the boy, who was being attended to by paramedics. "Who beat him up?"

"I – I did." I confessed. "It was… He was attacking her. They were taunting her with…" I felt my throat close up. I swallowed as hard as I could, forcing myself to talk. "…cat meat."

He frowned in confusion.

"Cat." I tried to explain. "Cat, you know." He still looked lost, so I sighed and said, "Cat, pussy." I closed my eyes. "And she loves cats." I added in a small voice.

The policeman nodded again, jotting the details down on a notepad I didn't even notice he was carrying. "And you're covered in eggs." He added abstractly, making another note. "Alright. We'll take the boy to the station and question him there." He looked at me, with something akin to pity burning in his eyes. He reached out and laid his hand on my shoulder for a brief moment. "A squad car will escort you home."

My head whipped around to look at Brittany. She was relatively calmer now, and a policewoman was finishing questioning her, holding her hand tightly. When the woman nodded in finality and stood up, I made my way over to her.

"Brittany?" I approached hesitantly. Her gaze lifted to me, and she stood to embrace me to her tightly. I sighed in relief and hugged her back, burying my head in her shoulder and taking deep, calming breaths. "I'm so sorry I couldn't stop them." I murmured weakly. "I'm so sorry." Tears burned my eyes. She pulled back abruptly to cup my dirty face in her hands.

"I love you." She said simply.

Everything felt much better then.


	5. This Place Is A Hole

_**A/N: The night has just begun. **_

**Chapter Three [Part One]: This place is a hole.**

The squad car began to slow as it approached the reached the Pierce household. What looked like all the lights in the entire house were turned on, and as soon as the car came to a gentle halt the front door flew open and Brittany's mother ran out towards us. She said nothing when she threw her arms around her daughter, but she didn't need to. I could feel the love exuding from her like a perfume releasing in to the air. Brittany automatically embraced her mother, sobbing, "Mom."

It was beautiful to watch, and extremely painful. How I longed for that kind of affection from my mother.

Everyone had momentarily stopped to watch the exchange. When I looked past Brittany and Mrs. Pierce, now talking in low tones to each other, I saw Brittany's father standing by the doorway, Brittany's little sister in his arms. Rory was standing beside him, looking he had just gotten out of bed.

"Miss Lopez?" The policeman called out softly from behind me. When I turned around to face him, he studied my face for a long moment before saying, "That was a very brave thing you did back there."

My breath caught in my throat. I could feel the sincerity in his words, I could see it shining in his eyes. I had to fight back tears as valiantly as I could, because no one, no one had ever called me brave before, not in the way that it mattered. But how could I tell him now that I didn't feel brave at all? That deep inside, there was a fear tearing at my heart, growing with every passing second, a fear for myself, but more importantly, a fear for Brittany? I was not safe to be who I was myself in my own skin. If not there, where else could I find protection? And if I couldn't protect myself, what more for Brittany?

He seemed to see the conflict in my face, because he clapped a firm hand over my shoulder once, before turning around and getting back into the car.

I turned back towards the Pierce's home. Mrs. Pierce began to steer Brittany into the house with her, but before she could, Brittany turned back and called out, "San." She stuck a hand out towards me in silent invitation.

From the corner of my eye, I saw as Mrs. Pierce struggled to maintain a neutral expression. It was more than a little surprising. Between both of Brittany's parents, Mrs. Pierce always seemed to be the more accepting of her daughter, and of our less than platonic friendship.

I took Brittany's hand. She smiled then, the first real smile I'd seen on her all night. Then she pulled me towards her house, her mother trailing behind.

Mr. Pierce and Rory moved back into the house to allow us to enter. Rory shut the door behind us, locking it.

"What happened?" Mr. Pierce asked us as he set Brittany's little sister on the ground. Kaye rushed towards me without hesitation, wrapping her little arms around my leg and clutching on to me tightly. I let go of Brittany's hand so I could lift Kaye into my arms, where I knew she'd fall asleep eventually. "The news said you were attacked by some sort of local gang, is that true?"

"The news?" I repeated dumbly, as Mrs. Pierce ushered me to the couch. Brittany took the open space beside me.

Mr. Pierce pointed to the open television, which was open on WOHN News. On the screen I could see – _holy fucking shit_ – a reporter talking to the camera about "a hate crime incident." In the background I could clearly see myself being questioned by the police officer, looking like a miserable mess, and when the camera moved to survey the scene I saw Brittany talking to the policewoman.

Brittany took my hand back in hers and gripped it tightly, but even then I felt cold, clammy sweat break over my entire body. Under the scrutiny of Brittany's entire family, I fought to maintain a calm exterior, despite the fact that my insides felt like they were going up in a fire.

_I'm out,_ I couldn't stop thinking. Brittany launched into a quiet monologue about exactly what had happened, but I couldn't focus enough to really pay attention. _I'm out._ I couldn't believe this was all happening in the span of less than ten hours. _I'm out._ Didn't the universe have any concept of taking things slowly?

Because I was ready to be with Brittany. I wasn't going to go and run back into the closet. But at the same time, I wanted to go baby steps. I wanted to take everything gently, gradually allowing myself to grow into the concept of truly, freely accepting myself. But now, at this point of time, there was no such opportunity for any kind of growth or adjustment to the change. There was no time to take a breath.

"You both better get cleaned up." Mr. Pierce said, much later on. Rory came towards me and gently took the sleeping Kaye from my arms, carrying her to her bedroom. "But before you girls go, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you both. Don't worry. The police will find the people behind this, and they will get the punishment they deserve." He looked at Brittany and laid a hand on her head. "I don't want you to worry about this, alright, princess? You're fine now."

Brittany smiled up at her father. "Thanks, Dad." Brittany began to lead me to her room, but before we reached it, Mrs. Pierce called out,

"Wait. Santana, can I speak to you for a moment?"

I felt my eyes widen, but I nodded. I turned to Brittany and whispered, "Go on ahead and get cleaned up, okay? I'll see you soon."

Brittany nodded, but stepped back and kissed me fiercely. Then without saying anything, she turned around and headed to her room. Stunned, I walked back to Mrs. Pierce, apprehension growing in my system. Mr. Pierce looked back and forth between us both, before leaving the room as well, leaving me and Brittany's mother alone together.

"I'm sorry I'm taking you away from getting cleaned up." She began hesitantly, waving a hand slightly over my yolk-stained appearance. "I just… I wanted to say this before I lost my nerve."

I waited, silent.

She inhaled deeply. "I know you love my daughter." I raised my eyes in surprise. "I know. I've see the look you give her whenever you're here every Wednesday and Friday. I've watched you teach her, the way you break things down so she can understand it. I've heard you singing lullabies to her so she can fall asleep." She paused, her face softening ever so slightly. "And above all things, I know that Brittany loves you."

I felt a lump growing in my throat.

"I've known for a very long time that she had the highest regard for you. I know that she looks up to you in ways that she doesn't look up to anyone else. Even if she rarely says anything about it, I know she loves you, Santana.

"And I don't hate her for it. I don't condemn her for it. That girl is my daughter, and I accept her for whoever she is and whomever she loves. Anyone who can make my Brittany happy makes me happy, too." Then she sighed deeply, shutting her eyes. It was like watching a woman hold an internal debate with herself.

"But…" her voice was softer now, so soft I had to shuffle closer to hear it, "As a mother, it is my responsibility to look after my daughter's welfare, Santana." She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Above all things, I need to make sure she's safe." She paused again, dropping her chin to her chest for a moment, in an attempt, I think, to either muster courage to say express her emotions or find the words to say them. "And although I know that this thing between you both isn't something I have any right over, I still wish…" she looked back at me, "I still wish it could have waited a little longer."

I stood still, stunned. "What do you mean?" I whispered hoarsely.

"I mean that now isn't the right time to have… you sort of relationship. You're seniors in high school. And while it may seem as though you need to rush into everything, including relationships, the truth is that you don't. The best things come to those who wait, Santana." She swallowed. I couldn't believe that I was hearing these words from Brittany's mother. "After what happened tonight, it is my responsibility to make sure that Brittany stays safe. And… I'm not sure if I can do that if she's with you."

I'd been slapped in the face a lot in my life, but nothing could compare to the way her words stung. And after the incidents of tonight, it was the worst possible thing she could have ever said.

"Do you understand?" She asked me.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that I could protect Brittany, that I could keep her safe and happy. But… could I, really?

"I understand." I whispered.

Mrs. Pierce nodded in relief. "Good, good." She muttered to herself. For a moment we stared at each other, and it felt like we were two soldiers standing on opposite battlefields. Then she motioned towards Brittany's room. "You better go get cleaned up."

"Right." I turned automatically, like a robot following an order. I began to make my way towards Brittany's room.

"Oh, and Santana?"

I looked back at Mrs. Pierce. "Please don't tell Brittany about any of this. I know it might sound harsh, but… if you were a mother, you'd understand."

I said nothing for a long moment, hating that she had me backed in a corner with no escape. Then I nodded once.

Brittany was laying facedown in pajamas on her bed when I entered her room, her two cats gathered around her feet. I watched her for a long moment, trailing my eyes over the golden hair across the pillow, the breadth of her back, the path down her spine, the dip of her lower back, the round of her buttocks, he length of her thighs, the shape of her calves. Even from behind, and even covered up, she still looked like perfection.

It hurt in the most abstract way to see her.

She lifted her head and looked at me questioningly. "San? Aren't you going to get clean?"

"Yeah," I said softly, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I just…" I paused, her mother's words still rolling around my head like tidal waves. "I just…"

"You just?" She prodded, frowning slightly.

I looked at her for a long moment, before shaking my head. "Nothing. I'm going to go get cleaned up, okay?"

"'Kay." She replied, setting her head back down on the bed.

I walked into her bathroom and stripped off my clothes. I stepped under the shower and turned it on, the cold water washing over me almost immediately.

I didn't bother trying to change the temperature. I focused all my energy in fighting back the tears that I wanted so badly to cry. I could no longer tell whether what I'd done on that stage back in the competition was right; whether I was being brave or just stupid.

What was probably the worst part is kissing her on stage felt like a very selfish act right now. After all, what triggered me into kissing her was seeing her with Artie. By kissing her, it was almost like I was trying to lay claim, as though I was expressing possession.

But at the same time, that wasn't really the point, either. I could never think of Brittany as something I owned. She was someone I loved. Didn't kissing her publicly just prove that?

I couldn't tell anymore. I was feeling all kinds of tormented, and it didn't help that it was all happening inside my head.

When I walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, Brittany was on her back. She had already laid out clothes I could wear to sleep, some things I'd begun to leave in her house after years of sleepovers. I turned off the light, before walking over slowly. With the faint light shining through her window, I put on the clothes as quickly as I could.

I settled into the space beside her, keeping a small amount of distance between us. I turned to look at her in the semi-darkness, meeting her gaze. For a long moment neither of us said anything.

"Do you…" She faltered. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

I exhaled noisily, looking away. "No, not really."

"Okay." She said in a soft voice. "What about my mom, what did she say?"

I swallowed. "Stuff."

"Okay." She said again. Another silence settled between us.

"I feel like I'm losing you right now." Brittany admitted in a tiny voice, lowering her eyes. I felt my heart constrict in my chest, and I turned my gaze back to her.

"Britt." I said, my voice unbelievably soft. I inched closer to her, closing the gap between us.

"It's worse because I feel like I'm losing you to _you_, you know?" _No, you aren't._ I wanted to say. _I'm just scared, and confused, and I feel so lost. _But I couldn't say it. The priority here was Brittany, not me.

"Britt." I repeated instead, elevating myself so my lips could ghost over her skin.

"It feels so weird," She continued, ignoring me, "to feel like I had you and lost you in the same night."

"Britt." I whispered, peppering her face with slow, light kisses. Finally her eyes turned to me, sweeping over my entire face almost as though she was trying to memorize every tiny detail. "I'm here." I murmured against her lips. "And whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?" She murmured back.

I wavered for a moment. Every promise seemed to weigh more now. Could I fulfill this one? "Yeah, Britt." I whispered. "I promise. Whatever happens, I will be there for you." I swallowed. "If it's for the best." I added, like an after-thought.

For a moment she looked at me intently, as if she was trying to decipher what I meant exactly. But instead of commenting on what I'd just said, instead of saying something that would seem vaguely connected to the conversation, she just whispered:

"I really need to graduate."


	6. I Don't Want To Go

**_A/N: I understand that many of you will want to find me and kill me after this chapter._  
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**Chapter Three [Part Two]: I Don't Want To Go**

"I really need to graduate."

She fell asleep right after she it. I stayed up the whole night trying to figure it out.

_I really need to graduate._ It echoed in my mind endlessly, like a really bad song with a particularly catchy tune. _I really need to graduate._ I knew that I could understand what she meant a little bit more now. I mean, she was right. The only way to escape from this stupid town and all its judgment was to leave it. And it would only make sense for her to want to leave Lima so much more after what happened tonight.

But Brittany was not the kind of person who allowed external judgment to define her life. She only really cared to hear the opinion of people she cared about. So why was now so different?

I knew that I could never really be certain of her motivations until she decided to tell me herself, so I just assumed that even if Brittany had her own curious way of coping with difficult things, it didn't mean she was immune to feeling pain. Maybe she just finally had enough.

It wasn't the best conclusion, but I couldn't come up with anything better.

My fingers traced her nose slowly, reveling in the smoothness of her skin. In my mind, I recalled the promise I'd made her. _I'll help you, B. I promise. You'll graduate. I swear on it._ It meant so much more now than ever. How could something that seemed so harmless and easy suddenly feel so heavy and complex?

I remembered the attack earlier, and I began to think about what it meant for me, and what it meant for us. It forced me out of the closet, and I knew that was reason enough for everything to change for me. But more importantly, it put us in an uncomfortable position under the scorching spotlight, a target for pain and abuse I knew Brittany did not deserve.

That led me to think of Mrs. Pierce and her quiet desperation, her genuine concern for Brittany's welfare. I wanted to hate for practically asking me to end things with Brittany, after all the pain and heartache we'd both gone through to finally make things happen. But I couldn't hate Mrs. Pierce. How could I, when her love for Brittany was probably as strong – if not stronger – than mine?

So the person I ended up hating was myself, because it was the easiest thing to do. Because maybe Mrs. Pierce was right. Maybe my timing was screwed, maybe I should have waited a little bit longer, even if it was going to prolong the longing. And maybe my deliberation in Brittany's shower was right, maybe I was just a huge, selfish bitch. Didn't everyone around me think of me that way, anyway? Manipulative, rude, evil, calculating?

My thoughts persistently attacked me throughout the night, until I was wrapped in a tight bubble of self-deprecation and self-doubt. I'd gone and turned myself against myself. I'd never over-thought and over-analyzed so much in my entire life, and it felt like Brittany was right. She was losing me to me.

But when the first rays of sunlight began to poke through Brittany's curtains, there was one thought that stood out more prominently from all the others, the one thought that made my eyes water and my heart ache: maybe everything that happened was just a testament to how I didn't really deserve Brittany at all.

I gently got off the bed when the duck-shaped clock on her bedside table told me that it was almost seven. She stirred slightly, mumbling, "San?"

I pressed a kiss on her temple, whispering, "Go back to sleep." She mumbled incoherently, before turning and shifting her head in the pillow I used. It was painfully endearing.

Without disturbing her, I found the drawer with my clothes in it and changed into a fresh outfit. When I was done, I stood by the bed for a long moment, watching the way the air made her entire body rise gently and fall slowly.

Then I bent and kissed her forehead once. _I love you,_ my kiss said. _I will always love you._ She stirred again, her eyes opening into tiny slits.

"San?" She mumbled sleepily again, one hand reaching forward. I took her searching hand in mine, grasping her fingers as tightly as I could.

"I've got to go." I said in a calm voice masking the turmoil inside. "My parents are already going to kill me for not coming home last night."

"Are you sure?" She frowned slightly, using her free hand to rub sleep from her eyes. "You can stay."

I was silent for a moment, thinking to myself. _Yes, I can stay,_ I pictured myself telling her. _I want to stay. Anywhere with you was always so much more of my home than the house I live in. But I think I should go._

With my available hand, I combed my fingers through her hair, choosing to remain silent. She watched me with questioning eyes. Then I tucked the stray strands of yellow hair behind her ears, before bending over and kissing her lips chastely.

"I'm going to go." I told her softly, gently extracting my hands.

"I know." She replied with a small, sad smile. "I know."

"I'm sorry." I muttered guiltily, as I began to make my way to the door. Just as I was about to close it behind me, she called out,

"San?"

"Yeah?" I said, poking my head back.

"I want you to know that I don't care about last night. I don't care that people think they can hurt us. I –" she paused for a moment, "I love you, okay? Please don't forget that."

My eyes watered, and my hands tightened on the doorknob. I nodded twice, not trusting myself to speak.

She gave me a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was the last thing I saw before I closed the door silently. When I made it to the living room, I saw Kaye coming towards me, yawning hugely.

"Tana?" She asked, looking up at me blearily, just as I was about to open the front door.

"Hello little princess." I greeted her, my voice weak. I tried – and failed – to smile.

She looked at me unblinkingly for a while before observing, "You look like you want to cry."

"I'm just tired." I lied, looking away and blinking rapidly. I'd forgotten how perceptive Kaye was, just like Brittany.

"Is it because of the bullies?" She asked, coming closer, bending her head to one side curiously. "Daddy said you were hurt by bullies."

"I – something like that." I shrugged.

"He said he was worried about Britt." She continued, ignoring me.

My eyebrows rose, my body tensing. "Why's that?"

Kaye looked at me straight in the eye. Her eyes, a perfect copy of Brittany's, sparkled piercingly. "He thinks this is only beginning."

I felt my mouth dry up.

"He thinks that even if other bullies won't be so bad, they'll still hurt her." She paused. "And you, too."

_Don't care so much about the me part._ I thought to myself. _But I'd sooner impale myself on a fucking stake then have Brittany get hurt again._

"He's scared that they'll finally find a way to break her."

I can't tell what it is anymore – has my heart stopped beating in my chest or has it tripled in beats?

Kaye shrugged, looking down. "I'm scared." She admitted in a tiny voice. "Is she going to be okay?"

I felt the air squeeze out of my lungs as I struggled to breath. "Yes." I finally wheezed. "She's going to be fine, Kaye." _I'll do whatever I have to do to make it true._

"Promise?"

I closed my eyes against the wave of overwhelming emotions that sweep over me. "I promise."

I walked back home blindly. _I get it, world._ I wanted to scream up at the sky. _I was wrong to kiss her. Can't you fucking punish me alone?_

I could feel the anger the moment I stepped into the house. I could taste it, rushing down my throat and choking me. I could feel it glaring at me when I closed the door, and I almost got frightened for myself.

"You finally decided to grace us with your presence, Your Majesty?"

When I turned around, I saw my father sitting on his favorite armchair, staring at me with a look full of contempt it was surprising, even for him.

"Papa," I began, holding my hands up in attempt to diffuse the tension. I was tired, in the most horrible emotional turmoil since accepting I was gay, and I was in no state to fight him.

"Don't call me that." He said in a dangerously low voice, standing slowly. I took one step back involuntarily. "No daughter of mine is a homosexual."

Against my will, tears filled my eyes. "But I am your daughter, Pa–"

He threw something big and solid in my direction, and I ducked to avoid it. My heart was beating erratically in my chest, my breathing was labored, and adrenalin was pumping in my veins hot and fast. He was by my side before I could get to my feet, and he sent his foot into my left torso. Pain exploded into being, and I rolled myself towards my right and struggled to get into equal grounding.

"You worthless bitch!" He was growling. "Are you trying to humiliate me on purpose? Huh?" He slapped me across my left cheek, countering it almost immediately with a smack to my right. Whimpering, I backed away, finally jumping to my feet in time to avoid the punch he attempted to send into my nose.

I used my palm to strike his sternum. When he lost balance I rammed my fist into his stomach, and he retaliated by grabbing my hair and yanking hard. I yelled out in pain.

He threw me back on the floor, and I landed with an agonized moan.

"You listen to me, you stupid girl." He said furiously. "You will end this. You understand? You end this or I will disown you, and drop support for your college."

I pulled myself into a seating position and pushed myself to my feet. "I don't care!" I screamed back at him, years and years of anger bubbling into the surface. "I don't fucking care. Go ahead and do your worst, you asshole."

His face reddened with anger, and he took a step closer to me. "You dare talk back to me?" He questioned coolly, his gaze like roaring fire. "Don't you dare forget you're a minor, Santana." He hissed, like the snake he was. "I can control your future so much more than you can."

I threw myself at him, fully intending to scratch his eyes out. But in a surprising quick movement, he had both my wrists pinned in his hands, his eyes alight with triumph.

I tried to stare him down, but my father was the perfect predator. He could sense my fear and vulnerability, and he wasn't going to let me go until he knew he crushed me.

"Drop the stupid cheerleader." He ordered, squeezing so tightly I can already feel the bruises coming up.

"No." I said defiantly, shaking my head. "I love her." I declared.

His fingers dug even deeper into my skin, until I was forced to buck my knees with the sheer pain. "Drop the cheerleader, or I'll drop her for you."

"You won't." I tried to inject confidence into my words, confidence I could not feel an ounce of. "You wouldn't even dare."

He smiles in a particularly frightening manner, like a maniacal demon hell-bent on getting his way. It sent warning signals off in my head like fire alarms.

"Drop the stupid cheerleader." He repeated in a smoother voice, deadly and cunning, "Or I swear I'll send you to boarding school halfway across the country."

It sounded like a lame threat, and I almost opened my mouth to tell him it wouldn't matter if he did, because Brittany and I would still find a way despite the distance.

Then in a blinding flash, I remembered the three promises I'd made. _You'll graduate. I will be here for you. She's going to be fine._

With the simplest of all his threats, my father had me squeezed into a tiny space. And he knew it.

"Don't think I don't mean it." He whispered into my face, his eyes narrowing. "I can, Santana, and if I have to, I will." He let go of me. "Don't you dare forget."

He let go of my arms, and I dropped unceremoniously to the ground in attempt to nurse them. _Monster,_ I was sobbing in my head. _You monster._

He turned around and began to walk away. Then he stopped and turned back. "Also, you're not allowed to go to school this week. If you go behind my back, I will find out."

When he disappeared into his bedroom – my mother stopped sharing one with him years ago – I got to my feet as gently as I could. Leaning heavily against the walls, I made my way to my bedroom, shutting it loudly behind me and locking it. I sank to the floor and practically crawled my way to bed.

Right before I drifted into restless sleep, I pulled out my phone and looked over at the screen. 4 Missed Calls. Britt. Britt. Britt. Britt. 11 New Messages.

I didn't read any of them. I just typed out a quick message – _cnt go to school ths week. m sorry. i love u_ – then I buried my face into my pillow and allowed myself to cry.

/

My mother brought me food three times a day, but she never said anything to me at all. She was as insubstantial as a ghost to me, always there but never really quite present.

It made me feel sad, so much more sadder than I already was.

/

Rachel paid me a visit on the third day of my imprisonment.

"You're missed in Glee." She said softly, taking a seat on the edge of my bed, her eyes wide with horror when she looked at the bruises visible on exposed skin. When I said nothing, she continued, "We've all been taking care of Brittany. She seems to be getting better, but she misses you every day. She'd come and visit but…" Rachel swallowed, "her parents ask her to go straight home after school so…"

I looked away, closing my eyes. After a long moment of silence, Rachel whispered, "They caught them, Santana."

I opened my eyes and looked back at her. "Who?" I rasped out.

"The boys who… attacked you. The Dan kid they brought down to the station? He named all his companions." She hesitated before adding, "Turns out they were from the opposing school in Sectionals. That's how they knew about you and Brittany."

I swallowed. "Thanks." I said, as sincerely as I could manage. For a moment we looked at each other, then I whispered, "Why are you here, Rachel?"

Rachel looked at me for a quiet moment. "Because Brittany is worried about you." She told me softly. "But mostly we're all really worried about Brittany. She… she kept getting slushied the other day, Santana. And her polls on the presidential campaign have been declining. Kurt feels bad enough to actually consider quitting the race."

Her words felt like a punch in the stomach, and I swallowed painfully. I blinked against the liquid that rushed into my eyes. Rachel noticed, but said nothing.

Right before she left, she looked at me searchingly before asking cautiously, "Who did this to you, Santana?" She gestured towards my bruised body. "Was it really those boys? Or was it someone else?"

I looked at her wordlessly, and she nodded, something like pain and pity flashing in her eyes. "I guess I know."

/

Every night in my sleep, I dreamt of Brittany.

It would always start the same: we were out, happy, without a care of anyone else in the world. Not everyone supported us, but the New Directions loved us for who we were, without question. I'd moved out of my house and into Brittany's, which made us spend almost every minute of the day with each other, wrapped in the glory that was our love.

But the dream would always shift, right in the moments where it felt the happiest. It would transform into something dark, scary, brutal. Something would always happen, some terrible event that would rob the stars out of Brittany's eyes and the steal the dance out of her every step. Helplessly, I would watch her degenerate until all her goals slipped through her fingers, and all the promises I made lay crushed on the floor.

Then everyone would encircle me with accusatory looks in their eyes, crying, "This is your fault, your fault. You knew you didn't deserve her but you took her anyway. You knew you couldn't protect her but you insisted anyway. Now look at what she's become!"

The image would warp and change into Mrs. Pierce's face, sobbing, "I knew you were no good for her! I knew you were no good for her!" My father's voice would suddenly burst from the darkness, and Mrs. Pierce's face would fade to reveal his, "You worthless whore! You worthless whore! Did you really need to spread your infectious instability?"

I would start running then, as fast and far as I could. Suddenly I'd appear in a tunnel, with Brittany standing in my way. "You promised me I'd graduate." She would say, the sorrow in her voice echoing around me. "You promised…you promised…you promised…"

I'd wake up then, breathing heavily, my body drenched with sweat, fear and self-loathing pounding in my head. I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't let it happen.

/

I snuck out of the house on the seventh day, right after my father left for work.

I trudged slowly towards Brittany's house, my heart growing fainter and fainter with every step I took. I kept my head down the entire journey, trying to find the words I was going to need to say.

I never hurt so much in my entire life.

But with all the facts set down on the table, it made the most sense.

I needed to protect Brittany. I needed to protect her from the bullies in this stupid town, the people who would judge her, hurt her, mistreat her, break her. I needed to protect her from myself, and all the trouble I always seemed to attract like a magnet.

I needed to fulfill my promise. I needed to make her graduate, I needed to be there for her – however she needed me to be – and I needed to make her okay.

I needed her to be happy. The kind of happiness that wasn't marred by the threat of judgment or anxiety, the kind of happiness that wasn't on the constant threat of disruption.

And to do all these, there was one vital step I needed to take. I needed to set her free.

"Santana?" I heard her call out in surprise, just as I reached her house. I heard the sound of her sneakers hitting the pavement as she ran towards me. I felt her arms encircle me, making me feel the protection I knew I could only feel with her. The protection I would be sacrificing. "Are you alright? Rachel said your fa –"

"I love you." I blurted out, finally meeting her eyes, trying not to cry. "You're the only person I've ever really loved, you know?"

Brittany looked taken aback, and I could see the fear growing in her eyes. "Santana."

I shut my eyes against the sight of her face, which was making this infinitely harder. "I'm so sorry." I blubbered out, trying to say what I'd come here to say, without actually saying it at all. It would kill me to say them aloud.

"Please," she begged softly, "Don't cry, San." I swallowed, a solitary tear running down the length of my cheek. "San, you're starting to scare me."

I held my breath until I knew I could do this without breaking down. Only then did I lift my eyes to look back into hers, looking more prominent against her paling face. For a moment I held my gaze, staring into the deep, warm blue that saw me in ways that no one else ever could. For a moment I allowed myself to get lost in the feeling of being loved, and being able to love back. "I love you." I repeated in a steadier voice. "But I'm sorry."

This time, I know she understood what I meant.

Her entire face scrunched up, her eyebrows coming together and her mouth opening in a shocked gasp. "No." She said disbelievingly, her breathing beginning to labor. "No."

I shook my head, taking a step back. She stepped forward in response, trying to hold on to me. "I'm sorry, Brittany." I repeated, taking more steps backwards. When she stood still, tears just beginning to trickle down her cheeks, I turned around and ran. I ignored her when she called out my name desperately.

I had taken the most delicate flower in the world and crushed its petals.

When I was sufficiently far away, I slowed to a walk. I had no plans, no prospects, no idea where I was headed. I just walked, and walked, until there was an ache burning in my legs that even Cheerios practice could not rival. And even then I just kept walking, until I was lost both in my mind and in my town. Somewhere in my head I could tell this was dangerous, and stupid, but I couldn't control the urge to just keep moving, and moving, and moving.

With each step I took, more pieces of me just fell apart.


	7. You're Still The Best

_**A/N: Thank you for not hating me so much.**_

**Chapter Four [Part One]: You're Still The Best**

I wanted to run away. Jump off a bridge. Get hit by a car. Get stabbed by a miscreant. Get torched by a psycho.

I wanted to hurt. I wanted to transform all the stupid abstract pain in my fucking heart into something tangible, like a bleeding, gaping wound. Preferably a fatal one.

"FUCK." I yelled, throwing out a punch at nothing in particular. A mother walking nearby jumped, scooped up her daughter and ran off. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I looked up at the sky, where I imagined God to be looking down at me. "FUCK YOU!" I screamed as loud as I could, slapping my hands on my face. "Fuck you! Can't I be happy? Just this fucking once? Why the fuck," I rammed my fists into the nearest street light, "are you going to fucking make me love her this much then make it fucking impossible for me to be with her? Fuck you! Fuck you!" I kept punching and punching until I could no longer feel my hands, and blood was splattered everywhere. Only then did I stop, releasing angry, broken sobs into the cold evening air. All my knuckles were busted, and every movement hurt like hell.

But in some sick way I felt satisfied. It hurt so bad, but it didn't quite hurt enough. I sank into the ground, sucking in great amounts of air that made my lungs hurt.

"Well, that certainly was something." I heard a familiar voice call out from behind me. I scrambled to my feet, turning so quickly I almost lost balance.

Quinn Fabray was leaning against the next street light, holding a cigarette in her right hand. As I watched, she took the stick to her mouth, before releasing a trail of smoke into the air. It was mildly revolting.

"So what did you do this time, break the Barbie doll's little unicorn?"

Something snapped inside me. Before I could even think out what I was doing, I had marched to her and slapped the smug smirk off her face. Oddly enough, she did nothing to stop me.

"Go on." She said, throwing her cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. "I know you need to let it out." When I did nothing, she pushed forward aggressively. "What are you fucking waiting for, Lopez? Hit me."

I stepped back. Hearing a swear word from Quinn was oddly disturbing, especially with my blood smeared across her face. "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction." I said in a broken voice. I took another step backwards, before turning on my heel, fully intending to run away.

Her hand grasped my wrist and pulled me back. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Fuck, I don't know, alright?" I yanked my arm away. "I don't have a fucking clue anymore."

Her lips hurled into a snarl. "So it's true then? You broke her heart." It wasn't a question. "Why do you always go and fucking screw things up for yourself?"

"I should probably ask you the same damn question, Fabray." I snapped back at her, clenching my fists. "And how the fuck do you know?"

"Because I actually went school today. I saw first-hand the damage you've caused." She crossed her arms over her chest. "She wasn't actually saying anything." She clarified when I opened my mouth, "But she wouldn't stop sobbing. She couldn't even walk into practice for New Directions because the room, apparently, 'had too many memories.'" She put two fingers in the air to form quotation marks. "I heard Satan Sue even went and allowed her to leave practice because she couldn't pull off any move without a round of tears."

Guilt, fresh and strong, lined all my blood vessels. It was causing serious circulation blockage. "Fuck me," I muttered to myself, closing my eyes against the bitter tide of tears threatening to overwhelm me.

"God damn it, Lopez." She breathed out. "If you weren't so beaten and bruised right now, I'd hit you myself."

I winced at her observations. I'd forgotten I still had the shape of my father's knuckles on my face. I pulled away, turning the opposite direction and walking off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She snarled, coming after me and matching my pace.

"Going away." I said in a tiny voice. "I don't need another person to tell I'm fucking stupid, worthless, or whatever shit else I happen to be. I already have myself for that, thanks."

"You really are such a fucking bitch." She sighed, before grabbing my arm and forcing me to a stop. "Do you think I'm as crazy as you? No chance in hell I'm going to let you go home like this."

"No home." I muttered, mostly to myself. Quinn heard, though, and she replied in a lower tone,

"Yeah, I know, Brittany was your home, yada yada yada. Whatever. I was talking about your house. No way I'd let you go back to your house tonight."

"I had no intention to." I replied, moving my legs again. The searing pain in my thighs and calves was so strong I was already limping.

Lightning flashed in the sky suddenly, making me jump slightly, making my legs hurt even more. The low rumble of thunder followed soon after.

Quinn huffed loudly. She knew how much I hated storms. I could almost picture her rolling her eyes. "Christ, just stay at my place, alright?"

I snorted, just as the rain began to fall. "Your mother hates me."

"Yeah, well." She looped an arm under my left arm, reaching out to my right shoulder, so she was carrying part of my weight. She was so close I could smell the traces of tobacco on her breath. "My mother hates me, too."

Much later, when I was tucked safely into her front seat, with loud, angry Tokio Hotel music wounding my ear drums, she said casually, "So I presume the shiners you're sporting are your father's handiwork?"

I bristled, but said nothing.

"Thought so." She murmured, nodding to herself.

Of course she could tell. If there was one girl whose Daddy Issues could rival my own, it was Quinn Fabray. Not that either of us ever swapped details about our dysfunctional home lives.

I stared out the window the entire time, drowning out the jarring music and focusing on the way the lights blended indistinctly outside.

It was the worst irony in the face of the whole wretched world. I had to hurt Brittany in the one act that proved how much I actually loved her. The worst part, I think, was the lingering doubt. Did I do the right thing? Was it the best thing to do? Could I have been stronger? Fiercer? Wiser? Was there anything else I could have done? Why couldn't I have been more selfish?

"What do you feel like doing for dinner?" Quinn's voice – which sounded like it was coming from a great distance I didn't remember travelling – interrupted my self-induced haze.

"Not hungry." I mumbled, looking at her briefly.

"Don't pull that shit with me. You're emaciated. It's creepy to look at you."

I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the window. "Are you going to swear all the time now?"

She glanced at me and gave a small smile. "Maybe." Then she frowned. "Don't think you can distract me, Lopez. I'm just going to stuff you with things dripping with grease, fattening you until Sylvester won't have any choice but to take you out of her squad."

I made a small sound in the back of my throat. "I'm quitting." I said, the decision becoming clear in my mind only as I say the words.

The car wobbled out of the lane for a moment. "You're kidding." Quinn said flatly.

"Not a chance in hell." I said in monotone, just as Quinn entered a McDonalds drive-in. She made a long order – lots of burgers and fries were involved – but I tuned out the sound disinterestedly. Instead my mind wandered to the last time I was in this place with Brittany, and how her eyes lit up when she dipped her French fry in her diet coke. It looked gross to me, but she wouldn't stop pestering me until I agreed to try one.

"_Eeew, Britt." I gagged. Her face fell ever so slightly. I bit back a sigh and dipped another fry into the coke. _Anything to make her happy._ I made a show of putting into my mouth and biting, chewing slowly. When I was finished, her face was back in its bright shade, her grin wide._

"_I know you don't really like it." She said, poking me slightly. Then her grin faded into a more sincere smile, one that made my heart stop. "But it's nice to know that you'd pretend for me." _

I said nothing then, only shrugging off-handedly. But now, as I try to keep calm remembering the moment, I wish I had the guts then to say, "Britt, I'd pretend anything for you." I'd even pretend not to love you.

/

Quinn's place was dark when we reached it. On the way, we'd both decimated the food like a bunch of starving, raving lunatics. It had taken a lot of force-feeding to get me to start eating, but eventually the demands of my empty stomach were too urgent to ignore.

"Where's your mother?" I asked when we entered the ghost town house. She flipped on the main switch for the lights.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care either." She tossed her keys on the kitchen table. "Come on. My room. You look and smell like you could use a shower."

"Are you sure like you want to share a bed with me?" I asked almost sarcastically, ignoring her insult. She gave me a look.

"Why, you think I'm worried that you're gay?" She snorted in a way that was reassuring and annoying at the same time. "Please. I've known you and Brittany would be getting it on since grade school."

Her room was nothing like I remembered it. There were no neat piles of notes on her table, no girly wallpaper covering the walls. Gone were the sparkling jewelries, the babies blues, the glittering tiaras. Instead, every inch was covered with brooding black with tiny highlights of pink and red. Her wardrobe was open, and I could see that every single article of clothing she used to love – those stupid billowy dresses and shit – were all gone.

"Are you sure you're Quinn Fabray?" I asked in an alarmed voice.

She ignored me. "Go take a shower before you stink up my room."

"I don't have clean clothes to change into." I pointed out softly. She sent me an annoyed look.

"Yeah, but I do." She kicked off her combat boots and threw herself into the bed. "You can pick out anything you want. I don't care what you wear as long as you're covered up."

I obeyed silently, pulling out black sweats from the bottom drawer and picking out a faded wifebeater. In the back of my mind, I found it necessary for Quinn to boss me around. It gave me something to do without needing to think so much.

I stepped into the shower, allowing the water to wash off the blood that had hardened around my knuckles. It stung, but eventually I could move my fingers without wincing so much. I tried to be as mechanical as I could be without needing to think of anything at all: Water, shampoo, soap, rinse. Water, shampoo, soap, rinse. It sounded like a weird mantra, but it was comforting in some odd way.

When I was covered up like Quinn requested, I stepped out of the bathroom and stood nervously in a corner of the room. She raised her head, eyes in narrow slits. She sighed, "You're kidding, right? What now, are you looking for permission?"

I smiled tightly. She rolled her eyes and beckoned with one hand. "Come on, Lopez. Don't worry. It's a big bed, and I'm not into girls that way."

I shuffled closer to the bed. Quinn rolled to the right side, so I gingerly laid myself on the left. When I was tucked into the warm sheets, I was relieved to discover that at least Quinn's bed stilled smelled like Quinn, and not anyone else.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked me eventually, the words floating out into the air between us. I opened my mouth to tell her to fuck off, but I changed my mind and shook my head slightly instead.

"Alright." She said. She got up and flipped the light switch, sending the entire room into darkness. "Good night."

/

Quinn ignored me the next day in school. It didn't matter if I was wearing her clothes, or that she drove me to school, or that I was hoping to stay in her place again tonight. She wanted to maintain her image as McKinley's newest rebel, and I was in no shape to tear down her reputation.

I spent most of the day avoiding Brittany. But somehow, it was like being far from her made me so much more sensitive to her presence. The air tingled with electricity when she was nearby, and inhaling became so much more difficult. When she entered the room, it felt like all the particles of light clustered around her, giving off an ethereal halo that surrounded her head to toe.

But most of the time it was difficult to avoid her because she kept actively pursuing me. She would send me longing looks in class, trying to capture my attention (when she honestly always had it, anyway). She would wait outside classrooms to ambush me.

She succeeded once. I was leaving Sue's office after officially resigning as her co-captain ("Well, you've done it again, sandbags. This is your last chance. I'm not going to allow you into the squad next year again if you fail me again."). She grabbed my arm, pleading, "San, talk to me. Please. I love you." It broke me even more. "And I know you love me. Please."

I looked at her then. Her eyes were so hollow and empty, it was frightening to see. "I'm sorry." I whispered. I shook my head, extracting my arm gently. "I'm sorry." I moved away hurriedly.

She didn't give up so easily. "Tell me what's wrong. What are you so scared of? Is it your dad? San, you can move in with me. My parents won't care –" _They will,_ I thought to myself. "and you'll be safe. Is it the bullies? San, you're stronger than that. You don't have to be afraid, you've always been strong enough to save yourself…"

"Brittany." I interrupted, turning on my heel to look at her. Every word that left her mouth felt like darts shooting straight through my heart. "Don't. Please. Just, don't."

I walked away again. This time, she didn't follow.


	8. Come Back Into You

**Chapter Four [Part Two]: Come Back Into You**

When I walked into the New Directions, it was like walking around in my birthday suit: everyone just fell silent and stared. They were all around Brittany, who was crying soundlessly in the back of the room.

Then Kurt stood up, walked right up to me, and slapped me across the face.

It stung, but I could take it. If I needed to play the villain, I would. Just as long as everyone focused on making Brittany feel better.

It continued that way for the rest of the week. The choir room no longer felt like a safe place; it began to resemble a torture room that kept finding new ways to inflict pain on me. Artie was trying to find new songs to express his renewed interest in Brittany (which included a horrific rendition of a Bieber song that made steam vent from my ears – _you smile, I smile _blabla). Kurt avoided me at all costs, though I often caught Blaine looking at me with this sad look in his face. One day he sent me a message that had only one word in it – _COURAGE_ – and I wanted to find him to beat the living shit out of his guts. Finn, self-proclaimed love guru extraordinaire, verbally attacked me by saying, "You just really don't have what it takes to love a person, do you?" Puck just stared at me silently, in a deep, solemn way that was so unlike him, it was unsettling. Mike treated me like I didn't exist, and Tina followed his suit. Mercedes didn't ignore me completely, but she tried that much not to acknowledge me, either. Rory glared at me as much as he could.

Interestingly, the one person who didn't act like she wanted to take my guts out and dry them under the sun was Rachel. If I were honest, I'd say she was being nice, taking the empty seat in the choir room beside me when no one else would.

The rest of the school took interest in our little story, too. Gossip ran madly across the campus, until I could overhear several different versions of the tale, not a single one even remotely close to the truth. Still, people believe what they want to believe, and so students' sympathy settled with Brittany, and their anger landed on me. To them, Brittany was portraying the heartbroken lover, while I, yet again, took on the role of the heartless bitch. I became the target of daily slushie facials and crude comments. It made me question my fucking sanity – why the hell did I let this happen to me? – but every time I heard that Brittany's polls were picking up once again, I reassured myself that what I had done was for the best. Maybe not for me, but certainly for her.

With the school's renewed sympathy and support, she won by a freaking landslide. Kurt and Math Geek didn't stand a chance.

As with all our activities, the election results were announced in the McKinley High Gym. The New Directions were slated to perform a musical number – _Power_ by Kanye West – and I opted not to perform with them. It might give the New Directions another reason to be hated. I found myself sitting in the back of the gym, where no one could really see or bother me. When Principal Figgins announced that Brittany Pierce had won the election, almost everyone leapt to their feet, cheering wildly. The New Directions took Brittany and lifted her up on their shoulders, almost tossing her in the air. I could see the sincere surprise on her face, then the excitement eclipsing it soon after. Her smile looked real enough to be believable. Her gaze swept through the crowd.

Our eyes met.

She didn't look away, and I was powerless to. Her smile faded slightly, but not altogether. Tentatively, I let a smile of congratulations creep into my face. I made a small thumbs-up with my left hand. _Well done._

I turned around and made my silent exit.

/

It's funny how my priorities shifted.

A year ago, I was suffocating myself with my insane need for a reputation. I was too afraid to come out because I worried about what people thought of me, what people would say behind my back. I was concerned about my welfare, my place in the hierarchy of McKinley.

Now, as another football player emptied the contents of his paper cup over my head, the cold trickling down my body like a terrible wake-up call, all I cared about was her.

I smothered a sob as giggles burst out around me. If there was one thing I was not going to let them take from me, it was my hard-core shell. No matter what happened, I was going to go through this without shedding a single tear in front of anyone.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" an angry voice growled from behind me. Before I could clear my field of vision, I heard the sound of Puck's fist connecting with the jock's slack jaw. "Haven't any of you losers gotten tired of doing this stupid shit?" I hear him hissing. "Dude, it's pathetic. Grow a fucking brain and get the hell out of here."

"What's going on here?" I heard the high-pitched yell of Coach Bieste. "Break it up, break it up!"

Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the hallway. I felt bodies pushing against me. I could only imagine how large the crowd must have been to watch Puck beat up one of his teammates. I felt a swell of gratitude bubble inside me.

"Come on." Puck's voice demanded, half-dragging me towards what I hoped was the nearest comfort room. "Get in there." He pushed me through the door. "Give me a sec, I'm gonna get Quinn."

"Puck –" I began, my voice breaking.

"Save it." He interrupted. "Get cleaned up."

I walked into the room and stumbled towards the sink, turning a faucet open. I gathered water in my hands and threw it unto my face, rinsing away as much of the blue crushed ice. When I could finally see again I stared at my reflection in the mirror, staring at the girl I had become.

The door opened, and I scampered into an empty stall, locking the door behind me.

"–uck was there, though. He wasn't able to stop it from happening but I heard he punched the player –"

"He did. I was there, I saw it happen. It was kind of scary. I'd never seen Puck lose control like that in a long time."

"Yeah, well. They used to be friends, right?"

I recognized the voices almost immediately. Mercedes, Tina, Rachel.

"But you know, maybe... Maybe she deserved it." I didn't know Tina was capable of so much vehemence.

"Guys." Another voice said. My heart did gymnastic stunts in my chest.

"Brittany, what she did to you was mean."

"You don't know that." Brittany murmured. I could almost picture her pouting. "Don't judge her."

"You're too good for her." Mercedes remarked. "Seriously, you're like an angel. She's always been Satan to me."

"She isn't." Brittany argued, her voice breaking. "Just stop, okay?"

"I agree with Brittany." Rachel said firmly. "We don't know what's going through Santana's head right now."

"Whatever." Mercedes said. "Sometimes in the choir room I just want to hit her. She isn't even really singing anymore, have you noticed?"

"Maybe she should just quit." Tina said, in a low voice.

I didn't even notice I was crying. Being stabbed in the back by random students I could handle, but this, coming from them, I could barely take. I shifted my weight to one leg, inadvertently slamming my bag into the walls of the stall.

"What was that?"

"I dunno. Jeez, let's get out of here."

I heard the door open, before closing again. I sank to the ground and gathered my legs to my chest, pressing my mouth to my knee to stifle the sobs as the door opened a second time.

"Lopez, you in here?" I heard Quinn call out. I tried to say yes, but it came out as a strangled noise. "Jesus Christ." She muttered. I heard the sound of the main lock latching into place, before her footsteps approached the stall I was in. "Are you going to come out or do I need to crawl in there?"

I reached up, unlocked the stall, scooted farther into it, and buried my head into my arms. Quinn pushed the door open and sighed at the sight of me on the ground.

"Keep behaving like this and I'll be convinced you were abducted by aliens, or brain-washed by some zombie fungi."

I let out another choking sound. "If only."

She aimed a gentle kick at my shins. "Get up, Lopez. I can't clean off your slushie if you're crumpled like paper on the floor."

I looked up at her. "Can I just stay here and die?"

A dark look crossed her eyes. Reaching down, she grabbed both my biceps and lifted me to my feet. When we were eye to eye, she breathed into my face, "Angry, suicidal thoughts are my job, Santana. Not yours."

I swallowed, trying to pretend the tears welling in my eyes were inexistent. "You called me Santana." I noted, blinking the liquid in my eyes away.

"I was under the impression that it was your name." She retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Now come on. You're going to get this slushie off your face, you're going to change your God damn clothes, and you're going to walk out there like you've got this under control. You're Head Bitch In Charge, Lopez, and don't you dare forget it."

I sniffed slightly, just as she yanked tissue off the dispenser. She put it under pouring water for a few seconds, before gently cleaning out my face. She wiped the stickiness off my hair, and absorbed the dye from my face. When she was done, she reached into her bag and pulled out a fresh shirt – practically identical to the one I'd soiled – and thrust it into my hands. I didn't even bother getting into a stall, I just pulled off the dirty shirt and put on the clean one. When I was through, she nodded approvingly and pointed to the door.

Just before I unlocked the door, I turned to her and began, "Hey, Quinn?" When she turned to look at me, I inhaled deeply and started, "Tha –"

"Don't wanna hear it. Just get out, Lopez. Set the world aflame."

I looked at her. Right at that moment, dressed in black fit only for a funeral, I'd never seen Quinn Fabray look clearer, like a spotlight was shining right on her, illuminating the blinding brightness I'd never bothered to find within.

/

I made it through the rest of the day in one piece. But when time for rehearsals came up, I purposely ignored the choir room, allowing my feet to lead me to the library, a place I'd never really been to that often in the past. It was practically deserted, and I took the empty seat in the farthest corner.

Just as I sat down, my bag hit the edge of the table and overturned slightly, causing my books and notes to come poking out. "Ugh." I said to myself, ready to shove back the offending materials back into their hiding place.

A single sheet stubbornly refused to return back inside though, so I pulled it out of my bag quickly, fully intending to throw it into the nearest trash bin. But when I saw what it was, I stopped in shock, my fingers trembling.

It was my most recent – and unfinished – reviewer for Brittany for Chemistry.

I'd began making it almost a three weeks ago, before Sectionals. With the rush of everything happening around me, I almost forgot about our sacred Wednesdays and Fridays. Now that those weren't happening, how was I supposed to help Brittany understanding the topics discussed in class?

I stared at the sheet for a long moment. Gritting my teeth and making up my mind, I pulled out my ballpen and continued the discussion where it left off – _Electron Configuration. Now, there are a few things you're going to need to remember, Brittany…_

I wasn't aware of time passing me by. I had moved on from Electron Configuration to Trends in the Periodic Table, constantly consulting my book for accurate information. When the librarian tapped my shoulder lightly and told me it was time for me to leave, I gathered all the sheets I had written on and folded them together. I walked into the empty hallways and stopped in front of Brittany's locker. Shaking slightly, I opened the lock and swung the door open. My eyes watered at the picture of the two of us plastered there, both of us beaming brightly at the camera. I laid the reviewer as gently as I could in the area where I knew she would see it immediately, before shutting the door quietly again.

The next day, I watched from afar as she opened her locker and saw the sheets I'd written the evening before. For a moment, the blood seemed to drain out of her face, and she stood as still as a statue. Then the bell rang and she began to read them on her way to class. I felt relief when she began to read them, her eyes moving left-right, left-right with every line she took in and absorbed.

I could still keep my promise.

/

I don't remember when I started cutting classes, but I do remember why.

We were discussing poetry in one class, and for some reason heartbreak came into the picture. The teacher told us that what the poet was trying to say was that the person who caused heartbreak always lost a piece of his/her soul whenever they hurt someone. One of my classmates raised her hand and said, "That explains a lot of things, Sir." Then she turned around, looked me straight in the eye, and commented, "No wonder you're such a soulless whore, Santana."

The whole class gasped, and the teacher looked too stunned to react. "Fine." I replied, standing up. "Fine." I repeated, gathering all my things and tossing it carelessly into my bag. No one said anything when I made my way to the door. But just as I was about to walk out, a hand reached out and grabbed my wrist.

I turned around to look at the person who stopped me, an angry retort ready in my mind. But when Brittany's blue eyes looked up at me pleadingly, the words died in my throat. _Stay,_ her eyes begged. _Don't go._

I felt my face soften, and tears rushed into my eyes. Her hand moved lower from my wrist and into my fingers, intertwining them together. Our hands still fit perfectly, a confluence of vanilla and light chocolate. Her palm was warm and steady, her fingers firm around mine. It was the most painful pleasure I'd ever experienced in my entire life.

"God, is Brittany really an idiot?" someone hissed from the back of class. It was like being pinched out of a dream.

For a moment, I willed myself to forget the rest of the world existed, wanting to prolong this moment as long as I sanely could. I stared at the eyes that were looking searchingly into mine, asking me endlessly, _Why? Why? Why?_, before I gently pulled my hand away.

_I love you,_ I wanted to say. Instead, I turned around and walked out of class.

Unsurprisingly, cutting classes became common for me after that.

It was, at first, difficult to do. I remember feeling the rush of, _Am I seriously going to do this?_ I had my share of doing extreme things, but cutting class was on a higher plane of stupidity. Even Puck, with all his faults, didn't dare to cut class that often. I knew that if I started now, I would never stop.

I think it was Physics, the one I seriously skipped out on for the first time. I walked by the classroom and just kept on walking, until I found myself in the library again. I took out the material we were supposed to be studying, took out clean sheets of paper, and began to make Brittany's reviewer.

/

"What am I doing here?"

I was sitting in the decidedly uncomfortable Guidance Office, trying to look everywhere except Miss Pilsbury's big, Bambi eyes.

"Well, Wil–Mr. Shuester's been concerned for you as of late, and he requested me to call you to see if you might, maybe, want to…" I glared at a random object on her desk, "talk, or something."

"I'm fine." I said coolly, daring to look at her briefly. "I'm fine."

"Thing is, are you really, Santana?" She leaned across the table. "You used to be a consistent A-student. You enjoyed Glee Club, and you were co-captain of the Cheerios."

I bit back a mad urge to throttle her. "Yeah, so?"

She put her hands under her chin. "Now, you're cutting classes on a regular basis. You haven't been to glee rehearsals in three weeks even if you know Regionals is a couple of weeks from now. You've quit Cheerios, too."

I shrugged. "I wanted to try something new."

"What was that exactly, being as reckless as you can be?"

I bristled. Grounding my teeth, I said coolly, "It's none of your business."

Miss Pilsbury ignored me and continued in a subdued tone, "I've also heard rumors, Santana."

Before I could ask her what she meant, the door slid open.

"Hello, Miss Pilsbury." Quinn said, looking from the guidance counselor to me, her eyebrows raising ever so slightly. "Sorry to interrupt. But Coach Sylvester is looking for Santana. And I think you know that she doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Miss Pilsbury looked utterly torn. On one hand she looked like she had no intention of letting me go, but on the other it seemed as though she knew Sue would kill her if I wasn't where I needed to be when she wanted me to be there. Before Miss P could make a decision though, I decided to help her make one.

"Later, Miss P." I said casually, standing up and pulling my bag off the floor. Before she could say anything more, I was out the door, following Quinn's lead.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked in a hoarse voice, when Quinn took a path that decidedly was not leading towards the gym or the football field. "I thought you said Sue was looking for me."

"She isn't." Quinn said shortly.

"What? Then why did you tell Miss Pils –"

"I gave you an out." She interrupted.

I gaped at her. "Wha–"

"Listen to me, Santana. You're stronger than that, alright? Even the mere idea that you need to be saved by the guidance counselor is ridiculous!" She paused and looked at me straight in the eye. It was a little more than intimidating. "The only thing you need to be saved from is the idea that you need to be saved."

"I know that." I felt tears pricking in the corner of my eyes. "But I'm not you, Quinn." I choked. "I can't just go and reinvent myself. I fucking came out. I came out. I lost everything. I lost her."

"Can you hear yourself?" Quinn snapped. "Christ. The Santana I knew last year would totally kick your ass."

"Yeah, well." I sniffed. "The Quinn I knew last year would have never used the Lord's name in vain." For a moment she glared at me, then her face softened almost imperceptibly and she reached forward to grasp my hand in hers. It took all my remaining self-preservation not to cry.

"You're wrong, you know." She said in a very quiet voice. I tried to ask what she meant, but the lump in my throat made it impossible to open my mouth without sobbing. She looked away for a moment, adding, "You didn't lose everything."

This time I did manage to say something. "What?" I blurted out, hating how my voice broke over one word.

Quinn looked back at me, her expression fierce. "I'm here."

It was the most unexpected thing in the world, coming from the most unexpected person. And at that moment, it was the best thing anyone could have ever told me.

"Come on, we've got somewhere to be."

"We do?" I ask weakly, regaining control over my voice.

"The one place we have to actually feel good about ourselves."

I smiled at hearing my words thrown back at me.

When we were standing on the doorway of the choir room, everyone stopped singing and stared at us incredulously. It was almost enough for me to change my mind and back away. But Quinn grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and pulled me into the room, saying coolly, "Well, prodigal members back. What's this week's assignment?"


	9. I'll Just Hide It

_**A/N1: Slightly off-schedule, and a little bit too short. Not really happy with it. **_

**Chapter Five: I'll Just Hide It**

On my eighteenth birthday, I cut all my classes and sat alone in the McKinley Football Field.

I was dressed comfortably in my own clothes – I'd recently snuck back into my own house and packed a bag full of them – and I had, as was becoming usual these days, no appetite.

I spent most of the day reminiscing to myself all the plans I used to have for this day. When I was younger it seemed so important to make such a big deal about my eighteenth year on earth. I had the whole picture painted out in my head: everyone in school – or at least, everyone who mattered – would be there, and there would be a pool, and an open bar, and everyone would dub it the party to end all parties. I wouldn't really interact with anyone, but Brittany would be attached to my hip, and we'd be dancing the night away center stage.

None of that really seemed to matter now. All I wanted was to be left alone, undisturbed, in the peace that was becoming rare for me. From Quinn's loud, abrasive music, to the constant buzz of the hallways and the ringing of insults yelled into my ears, quiet had become the ideal state of being.

When the football players came to the field to practice in the late afternoon, I snuck up to the technician's room in the McKinley gymnasium, which had a tiny opening leading to the roof, where I knew no one would be.

I laid myself flat on the roofing material and stared up at the dimming sky. The different shades of blue reminded me of Brittany's eyes, and my thoughts drifted easily to her. I wondered briefly where she was, and what she was doing. Did she remember what today was? Did she still care? What was she doing? What was she thinking? What was she feeling?

When the entire school had cleared out, I went back into the Technician's room and made my way off the campus. On the way, I pulled out my phone from my pocket, just in time to see that Quinn was calling me.

"You've reached the biggest train wreck on earth."

"You missed the big test in Algebra, and Mr. Schuester wanted to give you a solo for Regionals." Pause. "And Brittany's looking for you."

I inhaled sharply. "What did you tell her?"

"The truth. That I had no fucking idea where the hell you were. She kept trying to call you. Why wouldn't you pick up?"

I bit back a sigh. "My phone was on silent the whole day. I didn't notice."

Quinn snorted. "You should seriously consider pulling your crap together, Lopez. Where are you?"

"Uh…" I looked around me.

"Never mind, I think I can see you. What are you doing walking alone in the dark?" The call abruptly disconnected then. I peered at the screen. 3 Missed Calls. 5 Unread Messages.

"_Lopez, wher the hell r u?_" **Delete.** "_Santana, I have just been informed that today is your 18th birthday. My sincerest wishes for a meaningful celebration._" **Delete**. "_Yo, Puck here. Hppy bday._" **Delete.** "_Lopez, I will kick ur ass wen I see u. PICK THE FUCK UP_" **Delete.** "_San? i didn't c u in schl 2day. r u ok? just wantd 2 say happy birthday. wish i cud b werever u r. i miss u_"

I re-read the message over and over, soaking it in like it was my salvation. She remembered. She was looking for me. She wanted to be where I was. She missed me.

It didn't change things, but it made me smile the first time the whole day.

"LOPEZ!" I heard Quinn's voice call out to me, bursting from the silence. I turned towards the direction of her voice, and she emerged slowly from the darkness. She wasn't alone.

"Yo, Satan." Puck greeted, nodding in my direction. "Ready to drink away your eighteenth?"

I didn't reply. I looked around Puck, where Blaine was standing nervously.

"Hello, Santana." Blaine said tentatively, giving a small wave. "I hope you don't mind my being here."

"He'll tell you he tagged along." Quinn said shortly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Truth is, he stuck to me like a fucking parasite."

Blaine seemed to shrink under the weight of her glare.

"Whatever." I shrugged. Brittany's text message was still lingering in my mind, and it was difficult to care about something as silly as Frodo wanting to hang around with the rowdy bunch. "I don't care."

Blaine looked relieved. Quinn just rolled her eyes.

"Well, come on then." She began to pull me by the edge of my sleeve. "Let's go and celebrate."

/

Quinn's idea of a celebration was a seedy bar in the far corner of town, which was practically empty. I ordered a single beer, since I wasn't interested in getting wasted. Blaine followed my lead.

"I thought Mr. Schue had you guys promise not to drink." He commented, as he took a sip.

"That was last year."

"Oh." He scratched his head. "Can I talk to you?" He asked me, just as he took the empty seat beside mine. Puck and Quinn were heading to a nearby convenience store, where they were going to purchase loads of junk food.

"You can talk," I replied, taking a sip of amber liquid, "but that doesn't mean I will."

He looked stumped – which made him look like a pouting puppy for a moment – then he nodded slowly. "Okay, deal. But you've got to promise me you're going to listen."

I sighed dejectedly, glaring at him slightly. "You aren't going to stop bugging me, are you?"

A twinkle entered his eyes, and he drank a mouthful of his beer. "No, not really."

"Even if you do know that it is my birthday?" I added.

He shook his head. "Especially because it's your birthday."

I took the bottle in my hands and emptied its contents in one go. He watched in amazement. "Fine." I said exasperatedly. "Go ahead, tell me I'm stupid, and retarded, and mean, and cruel, and evi–"

"I should probably begin by saying I come in peace." He interrupted, holding up his hands. "I'm not here to call you names. I'm not like that, Santana. The last thing I want to do here is make you look like the bad guy."

"What do you want then?" I half-snapped.

"Well, for starters, I want to understand." His voice had lowered, and he moved closer towards me. "I want to understand what you're doing, and why."

I snorted, waving for the attention of the bartender. I pointed to my empty bottle and stuck up two fingers. _Two beers._

"Santana?" He prodded.

"I'm not obliged to answer any of your questions." I reminded him, just as the bartender set down freshly opened bottles of beer. I took one immediately and drank deeply.

He leaned back, looking thoughtful. "Why weren't you in glee today?" He asked casually, taking a sip from his drink.

I rolled my eyes. "It was my birthday gift to myself."

"You were supposed to have a solo."

"Don't want it."

"Now we have a duet."

"I – what?"

He smiled. He knew he had my attention. "We've been assigned the opening duet."

I groaned. "Pick someone else. I don't want it."

"Thing is, I think you need it." He murmured, taking a swig from his bottle.

"What exactly are we supposed to be singing?"

He hesitated for a moment. "It's a mash-up. _Tonight_ by FM Static and _Vanilla Twilight_ by Owl City."

I stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Not at all."

"So basically we're singing about losing love to death. There's a big NO FUCKING WAY flashing in my head right now in red neon lights."

"Who said it needs to be about losing love to death?" He looked at me seriously. "If you think about it, it could also be about losing love… to life."

I stared at him for a long moment. He matched my gaze, refusing to look away. Deep inside, I could hear what he was really saying, without saying the words at all. It struck a deep cord in the fiber of my being. I felt like he could see right through me. It was frightening.

"Look, Santana." He said softly, leaning forward. I looked away. "I know that it's none of my business. I know that I know nothing about what's really going on here. Brittany doesn't want to say anything, I think partly because she doesn't really understand, and partly because she's trying to protect you. And you're just the most impenetrable person I've ever met in my entire life." He paused. "But I can't help thinking that you're shattering faster and harder than Brittany is."

I said nothing, tracing the shape of the bottle mouth. He sighed quietly.

"I don't expect you to tell me anything, Santana. But I want you to know that I am here for you. And so are Quinn and Puck. And, believe it or not, Rachel. I know you think you need to bear all this on your own and that you have to keep your secrets to yourself, but you don't." He shook his head. "You honestly don't."

"Yo, bitches, what's happening?" A bag of groceries were dumped abruptly on the table. Puck and Quinn dropped into the empty seats beside us, signaling for the bartender's attention. I could still feel Blaine's eyes on me, even as I busied myself with pulling out a bag of chips.

"Round of beers." Puck ordered, making a circle shape in the air around us. "And don't worry, we'll pay for bringing in food."

"Actually, I need to go." Blaine said, standing. "I promised my mom I would help her repaint my little sister's room tonight." He smiled around at us, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Thanks for having me. Happy Birthday, Santana." He turned around and took his jacket off the back of the chair. "Oh, I almost forgot." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a tiny, neatly packed box. "This is from Brittany. She still isn't really allowed out, so she asked me to give this to you. She says happy birthday."

I felt my throat closing up when he extend out his arm to me. I took the package from his hand. "Thanks." I said, in a voice that barely sounded like my own.

"I wish you all the best." He replied simply. "And you know where to find me." He left.

"He just didn't want to get wasted." Puck sneered after Blaine's retreating form. "He might've gone around questioning his sexuality again, or something stupid like that."

I finished my second beer and shrugged. "Actually, I think I want to go, too." I stood, Quinn looking perplexedly up at me. "I'll just walk. I'll see you back in your place?"

"Alright." Quinn said, sounding faintly annoyed. I was going to have to make it up to her.

"Here." I said, taking out my wallet and setting down $20. "My treat."

"Oh, hey, look at that!" Puck said excitedly.

Just before I left, Quinn hand closed around my arm. "I'll walk you out."

I blinked. "Sure." I grabbed my jacket and put it on.

"You ok?" Quinn demanded, as soon as we were out of Puck's earshot. "Do I need to kick some hobbit ass?"

I laughed shakily. "Nah. I appreciate the offer though. Frodo behaved today. He was just…" I searched for the word inside my head. "Concerned."

"Huh." She said, folding her arms over her chest. She was tense, I could feel it. "Did you tell him anything?"

I looked at her. "No, of course not."

"Why the fuck not?" She asked, looking anywhere but me. I grabbed her arm and squeezed tightly.

"If there's anyone I'm going to tell shit to, it's you, alright? Not some transferee student."

Quinn said nothing for a fraction of a minute. Then her entire face relaxed – her scowl faded, her eyes became less guarded. "Really?" Her voice was soft, hesitant, as gentle as butterfly wings.

My heart squeezed in my chest. "Hell, yeah."

She smiled. "Awesome."

/

Later on, in the privacy of Quinn's empty bedroom, I gently unwrapped the package, taking extra care not to rip anything. Behind the wrapper, in a tiny section, Brittany's handwriting caught my attention.

_I love you. Always._

I opened the box and stifled a gasp.

_No way._

Suddenly dizzy, I felt myself dropping ungracefully on the floor, leaning against the wall. I stared at it unblinkingly for a full minute. It felt like my heart was expanding five times in my chest, crushing my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

When my trembling fingers finally reached in and held it up, the white life turned into the colors of the rainbow. It was magical, and breathtaking, and utterly heart wrenching.

I felt completely unworthy of it.

Feeling sick, I finally put it back into its case, and stared at it some more.

Cushioned by pure black velvet, the diamond ring sparkled madly up at me. In the insides of the ring, engraved to last forever, it said: **B&S**.


	10. As Good As It Gets

_**A/N: Sorry for the severe delay. I finally got to watch Glee Live 3D. Holyfuckingshit. Naya-fucking-perfect-Rivera and Heather -that-body-Morris. I might not be gay, but I have intense appreciation for those two. And their abs. And their boobs. In 3D, nonetheless.**_

_**Then the season premier. First, Blaintana was amazing. Then, boom, wow, heartache. Poor Santana. I wrote a whole recap on my tumblr, if you're interested.**_

**Chapter Seven [Part One]: As Good As It Gets**

The stage was completely set-up, the band in place. It was supposed to be reassuring, but it wasn't.

Behind the doors leading into the auditorium, I was pacing endlessly.

"We got this." Blaine said soothingly, his warm, smooth hand slipping into mine, keeping me still. I was so nervous I didn't bother pushing him away, though my heart was desperately wishing for another hand to replace his. Almost as though he could read my mind, he squeezed my hand gently. "We've practiced hundreds of times in Quinn's house. Our voices sound amazing together. We've perfected the choreography and –"

"Frodo?" I interrupted in a loud voice, looking him straight in the eye. "Shut up."

His lips twitched, but he fell silent. One of the organizers rushed to us, calling out, "You've got two minutes. Got that? Two minutes."

Blaine nodded. I just glared.

When the organizer hurried away, Blaine squeezed my hand one last time. "Santana…" He began, turning to look at me deeply. "Don't forget." With his free hand, he tapped the ring that I wore on a chain around my neck. "Sing for her."

"Sixty seconds!" Someone hissed at us. Blaine began to release my hand, but I gripped it even tighter.

"Do you think she'll know?" I asked in hushed whispers. "That I'll be singing for her?"

Blaine smiled gently. For some reason, the fatherly look in his eyes made me feel like a little girl again. "Of course, Santana." He cupped my cheek. "She always knows."

"_And now, please welcome the New Directions!"_

It was almost perfect. The lights on my face, the beat of the rhythm deep in my heart, rekindling a fire I had long forgotten existed, Blaine's voice harmonizing with mine. I'd performed on stage before, but it was different to do it wearing my heart on my sleeve.

It was almost perfect, until we were announced winners and my eyes just automatically drifted to Brittany, like a moth attracted to flames.

She was already looking at me, even if she was hugging an ecstatic Kurt in her arms. Her gaze drifted to the ring shining clearly above my heart, then back to my eyes. Her tender smile reminded me of feather-light memories, each one brushing against the corner of my consciousness gently. It took all my effort not to drop on my knees and beg her to come back to me. I had to remind myself that outside this little bubble of happy success, there existed a bigger, crueler world, one where my love alone would not be sufficient to protect her.

So I look away and walked off stage, sound fading around me like a space turning into a vacuum. And even if I wasn't looking, I could still see - and feel - her heart breaking, as clearly as my own. The growing distance that separated us suddenly felt close to a million miles.

On the way back on the bus, I sat in the very back, hoodie drawn over to hide my eyes from the world outside.

/

As a child, I never liked Christmas. The season brought the dreaded annual Lopez reunion, or as I liked to call it, the annual _bash-Santana-escapade_. No matter what age I was, there just seemed to be so many things wrong about me: my height, my skin tone, the way I spoke Spanish, the trouble I had gotten into since the previous year. I had realized at a young age that the people with whom I shared blood were the people who were most critical about who I was, and who they wanted me to be, especially my aunts from my mother's side.

I wasn't planning to go, but three days before the dreaded event, I received a text message from my mother, asking for me to come over on Christmas. Quinn told me to ignore it, to tell her to fuck off then delete the message, but this was my _mother_. I hated the fact that somewhere deep inside, I was still trying so blindly to make her love me.

That was how I found myself standing in front of the house I hadn't slept in for almost three months. I was wearing a borrowed hoodie from Quinn, my hands jammed so deeply into the pockets, my breath coming out in clear, white mists. I walked to the front door and prepared to knock.

The door swung open, my mother standing on the doorstep with a relieved look on her face. "I didn't think you were coming." I hadn't heard her voice in so long; I almost forgot what it sounded like. But like an old song, the pitch and tone of her voice just seemed to register back into the stream of my consciousness, matching with memories of the past I'd long forgotten.

"Of course I did." I said gruffly, dropping my gaze to the ground. "You asked me."

When I looked back up again, the tears I saw in her eyes made the blood stop rushing through my blood vessels. Wordlessly, she took my arm and pulled me into the house. Surprise filled my system when she wrapped her arms around me and held me there.

Automatically I felt like a child again, basking in the comfort of my mother's arms, which made the world feel like a safer place for the time being. When she pulled back and surveyed me with her eyes, she gave me a teary smile and commented, "You've lost a lot of weight."

I shrugged, more interested in getting back into her arms, but my mother let me go and began to lead her way to the kitchen.

"Where Papa?" I asked wearily, looking around for telltale signs of my father. I heard her breath hitch.

"He's not here." She said in a grave voice. "He-he had some medical conference to attend in San Francisco. He left this morning."

"Oh." Relief flooded my system as I rocked back and forth on my heels. "Is anyone coming?"

My mother shook her head. "I said we were going away on holiday, so none of them made plans to come for Christmas." She looked at me and smiled almost shyly. "It's just you and me."

I felt a flutter of warmth growing in my chest, one that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate she handed to me. I smiled then, the first real smile I shared with my mother in a long, long time.

"Santana?" She began softly, her voice breaking.

"Yeah?" I asked, pushing the hood off my head.

She looked at me for a long moment, opening and closing her mouth as though trying desperately to find the right words to say. Then finally she sighed, "Merry Christmas."

I felt a tear cascade down my face before I could stop it. In a quick instant, I saw the sparkle of blonde and the warmth of blue in my mind, and I felt hollow all of a sudden, incomplete. "Merry Christmas." I whispered back, trying to smile. I failed.

/

My mother, I could tell, was holding back from saying something to me all day long. Sometimes I would catch her looking at me in this weird melancholy way, and I could feel the words coming – but she would never actually say them out loud. Instead she would ask me other things, about school, about Cheerios, about glee club, but never about what really mattered. I made up a lot of stories and twisted a lot of facts to let her hear what I realized she wanted to hear: _I'm fine, I'm doing great, I'm on top, I'm the best, I'm as fit as a fiddle_. Not once did I ever say: _I'm lonely, I'm scared, I broke the heart of the only person I ever truly loved, I'm confused, I'm lost, I don't know what to do_. I put up a charade not because I wanted to, but because it was the only way I could pretend, even if it was for a little while, that my mother loved me for who I was. It was the only way I could ever be with my mother, and it was the only way she ever truly learned to see me, anyway.

It was almost evening when my mother finally blurted out, "Can't you change?"

I wrinkled my eyebrows, trying to convince myself so badly that I had heard wrong, that those words were not the ones my mother had actually said. "What?"

She looked at me imploringly, and rephrased, "You're going to grow out of it." She actually sounded like she was convincing herself. She nodded. "This is all just a phase teenagers go through nowadays. You'll get over it, and we can pretend it never actually happened."

I don't know what hurt more: the fact that I had almost made myself believe that my mother actually gave a shit for once, that she was finally ready to be there when I needed her; or the fact that she still didn't get it, and that she didn't want to.

"Mom." I said, my voice sounding unlike my own, all sad and small and pathetic. I closed my eyes because I didn't want to cry.

"It's true." I heard her say, her voice sounding unnaturally high-pitched. "All you need to do is stop spending so much time with that ditzy, blonde friend of yours and–"

I was standing before I even managed to think through what I was doing. I grabbed Quinn's hoodie from the back of the couch. "Santana!" my mother cried out, but I ignored it and made my way to the door. "I'm your mother! Come back here!" With my hand gripping the doorknob, I spat,

"You were never my mother."

/

I didn't even realize I was heading to Brittany's house until I was standing right in front of it.

It was always my default this time of year, like a set of instructions etched into my mind: '_If a family member makes you feel bad, run to Brittany. She'll make the pain go away like a gentle kiss on a tiny wound. She'll hold you in your arms and remind you of all the reasons why she thinks you're awesome. She'll sneak Christmas dinner up to her bedroom so that you don't have to feel so hungry, she'll wrap the covers tight around you in the night so you that the warmth will melt some of the coldness in your heart. She'll press her lips to yours once before she drifts to sleep because she wants to make you remember that you are loved. And when you wake up in the morning, she will greet you with the most beautiful smile you've ever seen in your life, so beautiful that you'll forget why you were sad in the first place.'_

It was the most insane torture: I kept hoping she would come out and see me, but at the same time I was hoping so strongly that she wouldn't see me at all. I stood in her street until the sky began to dim and the street lights began to light up. I stood until I could no longer feel my fingers and toes, until I felt moving would make me shatter like ice.

"Tana?"

I turned around and saw Kaye watching me with wide, apprehensive eyes.

"H-hi." I stammered, swallowing.

"I saw you from my window." She told me matter-of-factly, pointing to the window signifying her room. "But I wasn't sure if it was really you or a Santana snowman because you weren't moving."

I felt myself smile in spite of myself. "Santana snowman?" I asked hoarsely.

"Yeah." She nodded enthusiastically. "Brittany's been building them all over the yard since the first snow fall."

I felt my heart clench torturously painfully in my chest, and I stopped breathing.

"Should I go get her?" Kaye asked excitedly. "She'll be so happy that you're here!"

She had taken off, running, before I could regain control over my voice. "Kaye–!" I cried out desperately, but the young girl had already vanished into her house. Before she could reappear with the person my soul longed so painfully to see, I turned around and ran off as fast as I could.


	11. Don't You Leave Me I

_A/N: I think I made a severe error. I assumed it snows in Lima, Ohio without actually checking if it does. Does it? If it doesn't, let's just pretend it does._

_Also, I made a mistake in chapter numbers. The previous update should be labeled Chapter Six, not Seven [Part One]. Sorry, I didn't have time to check or edit._

_One more thing. I know many of you might have a hard time reading this update. But when I said angst, I meant it. but I want to reassure you: it's going to be alright._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven [Part One]: Don't You Leave Me<strong>

"_**Would you love me still?**_

_**Would you love me still?"**_

_**Sins of My Youth, Neon Trees**_

I told Quinn everything after Christmas.

I had no choice. When I stumbled into her room, frozen to my blood cells, she had to stand to catch me before I collapsed, my breathing ragged, my heart wild and erratic. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and vanish somehow, until my existence would be nothing more than a tiny, insignificant dot in the windshield of Brittany's life.

"Jesus, you're freezing." Quinn muttered, taking her hoodie and wrenching it off me. "Take off your clothes, you need to change into something dry."

I shook my head forcefully, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.

"What the fuck?" She hissed at me. "Lopez, take off your God damn clothes. You're going to get pneumonia or something."

"Don't care." I managed to gasp, closing my eyes. "I want to." The words left my lips before I could catch them, before I could swallow them back into the silent recesses of my mind.

Holding me tightly to her, I could feel Quinn stiffen.

"Fuck you." She said in a low voice, my eyes opening in surprise. She was looking at me with an ugly expression, her eyes suddenly bloodshot. She pushed herself off me, backing away.

"Quinn," I began, trying to placate her, unsteadily rising to my feet.

"Fuck you!" She only said loudly, her voice shaking. "You want to go off and kill yourself, don't you dare do it here." Her voice was increasing in volume. "You want to go and disappear off the face of earth, because of some sick situation I don't know a single thing about–" Her face began to redden, "–if you want to hurt Brittany so much more by taking yourself out of the equation, I don't want a fucking part in it." An odd mixture of amazement and shock was speeding throughout my body when I realized she was actually crying.

"Quinn," I said in a softer voice, holding up my hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I just… I…"

She turned away, sniffing. Her shoulders dropped, and she reached forward to grip the edge of her desk. I could see her knuckles, sharp and white. "Look, I know I don't get it." Her voice was steadier now, though low with emotion. "But I'm trying, alright? I swore I wasn't going to let anyone in this school year. I swore I wasn't going to go back to glee club." I could hear the frustration in her voice. "I swore I wasn't going to get myself involved with other people's problems, especially when none of them seemed to be even faintly concerned with any of mine." She turned and met my gaze. "But you're my friend. You get that? You're my friend. And it tears me apart even more when you do this to yourself and I don't even fucking get why."

I sort of crumbled then, like an ancient wall giving in after years and years of physical weathering. Mumbled sentences and chopped up phrases spewed from my mouth, like lava erupting erratically from a volcano. I didn't even know I was on the ground until I realized I was rocking back and forth in time to the words I was saying, my arms wrapped around my midsection tightly.

Quinn never interrupted me. She seemed to get my need to talk without stopping, to say the words that had run back and forth on the highways of my mind since Sectionals. She didn't make a sound as she sat in the space beside me, listening as hard as she could to everything I was revealing: my burning promises, my drowning insecurities, my overwhelming fears, my overpowering doubts, my growing confusion, my anger at the whole fucking world.

Her silence set me at ease; it was almost like I wasn't exposing my vulnerability to another human being. It felt a bit more like I was talking to inanimate objects scattered around her room, while they listened silently as I struggled to express the feelings I had bottled up.

It was only when I finished telling her about what had happened earlier in the day with my mother and with Kaye that I finally dared to look back up at her. She was turned away from me, frowning slightly, a thoughtful, faraway look in her eyes. When she looked back at me, she reached out and tangled her fingers in mine wordlessly. '_I understand'_ seemed to pass in the air between us. _'I understand and I'm not judging you.'_ She applied the slightest pressure on my palm. _'I understand and I am here for you.'_

I fought back the sob lodged in my throat, the tears pricking my eyes. She laid her head on my shoulder and held my hand even tighter. _'I understand.'_

Much later, I allowed her to guide me to her shower, where she stripped me of everything but my underwear. She turned on the knob, and left me to feel the heated water cascade over me, driving away the cold and bringing me with warmth. It was like learning what it meant to have real friends. What it meant to have someone accept you unconditionally.

/

We spent most of New Year's Eve lying on the roof of her house, wrapped in blankets and staring up at the big, endless sky.

"So," she began, as she took out a cigarette from one of her pockets and a lighter from another, "what are you going to do?" She lit the cigarette and puffed once, twice, thrice. When she caught me watching her, she offered the cigarette in my direction, eyebrows raised.

I plucked the cigarette from her fingers, staring at it for a long moment. My head was screaming _**no**_. Brittany hated it when I got into smoking back in second year, refusing to even hug me whenever I smelled like "an ashtray." Within the first month of picking up the habit, I quit. Being starved of Brittany's touch was even worse than my recently discovered addiction for nicotine. Nothing artificial could compare to how she made me feel.

I put the cigarette in my mouth and puffed once. Nothing artificial could compare to how she made me feel, but this was all I had right now.

Almost immediately I felt the effect: my eyes watered and my throat felt like it was on fire. My heart beat seemed to grow louder and faster in my ears, my skin turning colder under my touch.

I took another puff and handed the cigarette back to her.

For a moment I imagined what it might look like: the nicotine rushing deep into my lungs, getting absorbed into – and tightening – my blood vessels, before spreading to the vital areas of my body. Morbidly, I pictured my internal organs blackening like they were being burned, until everything was a withered black mass and I died in agonizing pain. It was disturbing to realize that the idea was kind of appealing to me.

"What are you going to do?" She asked me again.

I shrugged. "I don't know." I said blankly, closing my eyes for a moment, familiarizing myself with the smell of the smoke around me. "No clue."

She turned to face me, so I did the same. She opened her mouth to say something, before a loud voice called out from inside the house, "QUINNIE!"

"Shit." She muttered, smoke coming out of her nose as pushed herself slowly off the surface. "Shit, shit."

"What?" I asked, slowly getting up as well, as another call for "QUINNIE" echoed off the walls.

"I'm not supposed to smoke in the house." She rolled her eyes. "Here, finish this for me." She thrust the cigarette back into my hands, before making her way back through her window. "Hide the butt inside something before you put it in the trashcan."

"Got it." I replied, before leaning back down on the roof to look up at the sky. I heard the door open, Quinn yelling, "For Christ's sake, I'm coming, Mother!" I took three more drags of the cigarette before I could jet out smoke expertly into the open sky. When I finally finished, I put it out by pressing it to the material of Quinn's roof, just as her door opened again. For a moment there was silence, before I heard footsteps approaching the open window.

"What did she want?" I called out, closing my eyes. I felt the thud of someone getting into the roof beside me. "Did she smell the smoke on you?"

"No," A small voice replied softly, making my eyes fly open and my heart jump out of my skin. "But I can smell it on you, though."

When I saw Brittany's sad gaze on me, I lost my balance and almost fell off the roof. Her hands shot out and grabbed my around my waist, pulling me back up, and closer to her.

"Careful." She warned gently, wrapping one arm around my back and holding me there. "I don't want you to fall and die." Her other hand came gently to my face, pushing back stray wisps of hair.

I swallowed. I could feel her hand through the layers of clothes, burning holes into my skin. The other hand she pressed lightly to my cheek made me feel like electric currents were travelling throughout my body, frying all my cells. I was pinned in my position, held down so it was impossible to move or look away. So I did the only thing that seemed to make sense the least and the most at the same time: I took her in my arms and pulled her even closer.

"Hi, San." She whispered after a moment, the words carving on the flesh of my nose. She was so close, I could almost count every single freckle on her breathtaking face.

"Hi." I murmured back, trying so hard not to blink. If I did, she might vanish like the illusion I was so sure she was. Her nose wrinkled slightly, and I remembered that I smelled like cigarette smoke.

"I thought you quit." She said, her fingers moving slowly down my temple to my chin. "You promised me you quit." There was that damn pout, the one that made my heart swell with so much uncontrollable emotion.

"I did." I replied as earnestly as I could, involuntarily leaning into her touch. "I did, I just…" I struggled for an explanation that would make sense.

"Shhh." She said softly, pressing her forehead to mine. I almost choked on my own tongue. "Never mind, San. It doesn't really matter."

She smelled so, so good. Heavenly. The scent of someone you love is one of the few things you can't really imagine when you're alone, though you can remember all the ways you can describe it. I knew the perfume lingering on her skin was the most amazing thing I'd had the pleasure to inhale, a mixture of vanilla and chocolate and warmth and love and home. But I could never conjure the smell of her on my own. I always needed her to be nearby so I could lose myself in the paradise of her.

"Why didn't you wait for me on Christmas?" She asked me in a hushed voice. "Kaye told me you were standing outside my house for almost two hours. Why didn't you wait?"

I felt myself shrugging, fighting back memories of my mother's face.

"You're crying."

I didn't even realize I was. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, trying to stop the flow of tears with even breathing.

"San, it's okay." I buried my face into her shoulder, trying to battle all the reasons in my head why this was so, so wrong. "It's okay," I heard her say again, clutching me tightly to her. Her jacket was rough and itchy, but I could hear the steady pounding of her heart, and it was all that really mattered.

Then suddenly she pulled back, and my entire body felt like it would degenerate without her pressed to me. She cupped my face in her hands, and stared deeply into my eyes, until she was looking deep into the fabric of my soul, into the very essence of what made me who I was. "I'm here." Her voice was quiet, determined, strong. "Can you hear me, Santana? I'm here."

Then she pressed her lips on the tears still tracking their way down my cheeks, my eyes closing on their own accord. White light burst in the back of my eyelids until I was so sure I was blind. With her thumbs she gently wiped away the rest of my tears, and she raised my entire face to her.

"Look at me." She pleaded tenderly, her fingers brushing my eyelashes. "Please look at me." I was terrified. I knew that when I opened my eyes and saw her, I wouldn't be able to resist. I would ruin us both.

"San." She begged. And like the empty coast surrendering to the crushing power of the tsunami, I gave in.

Her eyes were bluer than I remembered, bluer than in my dreams. "Why are you here?" I managed to say in a breaking voice. A hurt look flashed across her face, and she began to pull away gently, but I clutched her closer to me, gasping, "No, no."

She settled back into my arms, looking at me for a long moment. "Your mom called me."

I felt my heart turn to stone. "Wh-what?"

Nodding absently, she nudged my cheeks with her nose. She was silent for a long moment. "She thought you were staying with me."

"What did you tell her?" I whispered, not trusting my voice.

Her eyes suddenly looked remarkably old and tired. "I told her that you were probably staying with Quinn."

I exhaled slowly. "What did she say?"

Her gaze moved away from my face. "Nothing…" she paused for a moment, inhaling. "She was just looking for you."

She looked back at me then, and something about the lingering sadness in her eyes made my heart twist. "There's more, isn't there?" I asked shakily. I felt her tense. When she said nothing, I felt fear bubbling in my gut. "What did she say, Brittany?"

"She called me a bad influence." She admitted in a voice so soft I almost didn't hear it. Something broke in her eyes then, and I realized that this was what I had been trying so hard to avoid: the look of utter heartbreak on her face. "She said it was my fault you weren't at home, and that you were the way you were, and… and…"

"Britt." I interrupted, feeling sick. _Fuck her,_ my mind was saying in repeat. I was scared with I realized I wanted to kill my own mother. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Is it true?" She sniffed, looking like a wounded puppy.

"No," I said fiercely, cupping her cheeks in my hands. "No, it isn't, alright?"

"Then why aren't we together?" She continued in her broken voice. "Why have you been avoiding me?" _Why did you break my heart?_ She didn't say it, but we could both hear it, anyway.

I didn't know what to say anymore, so I settled for the only truth I had ever known in my life. "I love you." I exhaled. Her entire body tensed and relaxed in the span of mere seconds, tears pooling in her eyes. "I love you." I repeated, needing to both hear and say it. She came closer, rolling until I was trapped beneath her lithe frame. "God, Brittany, I love you."

Her lips descended unto mine with such a tender force it blew my entire being into pieces. I felt like I was dying and being reborn at the same moment, caught in the crossfire directly between the hell and heaven of my mind.

Her lips were soft and supple, moving against mine in perfect harmony. Everything came as natural as blinking: my hands weaving through her golden hair, her arms wrapping around my waist. She kissed me until I was going dizzy, until I could taste her blood and our tears. She kissed me until I could no longer feel her lips on mine, and focused instead of the taste of her in my mouth.

She kissed me until I remembered all the reasons why I shouldn't be letting any of this happen.

I turned away, gasping for air. Her lips moved down my jaw and across the expanse of my neck, until I began to squirm under her. "I can't." I tried to pull away, crying again. "I can't. We can't."

"Can't?" She asked hoarsely, looking shattered. "You can't, or you won't?"

It hit me then, the final move I had to make to protect Brittany. The one thing I could do to keep her away from me – and to keep her safe. It was going to crush her spirit into fine grains, but I knew that with time she would be eventually piece back together, stronger and wiser than ever. Then she would be moving on to her bright future, away from this town to better horizons, away from me to someone who deserved her more.

I was the one who wasn't going to survive this.

"I won't." I said, grateful that my voice was calm and steady. "I won't because I don't want to."

She flinched, rolling off me as though burnt. "What?" She asked me, her voice shocked, eyes fading in intensity.

"I don't want to." I repeated. This was going to end everything, and I knew that. My heart began screaming no, while my head was determinedly yelling yes.

"You're lying." She said desperately, her hands clenching into tight fists. "You love me. I know it, I can feel it. You're wearing the ring I bought you from Europe, even if it isn't on your finger. What are you so afraid of? Who's going to hurt you?"

_I'm not afraid of someone hurting me,_ my heart moaned. _I'm afraid of someone hurting you._ "I do love you." I said in the same low voice. I closed my eyes and willed myself to make the final cut, the deepest wound. "But I don't want to be with you."

I heard her breath hitch, then the gasping of her sobbing into the open night, the sound of her heart breaking echoing across the open sky. It took all my effort not to hurl myself down to the pavement.

"I'm sorry." I heard myself saying pathetically. "I'm so sorry." I reached forward to touch her, but she pushed my hands away.

"Don't touch me." She sobbed, before stumbled back through the window and back into Quinn's room. I heard her make her way to the door, falling across things. I heard Quinn's alarmed, "Brittany?" when the door opened, the sound of arms wrapping tightly around her body.

I felt an odd numbness creeping across me, blanketing all emotions and keeping them tucked away.

Then the fireworks went off in the sky.


	12. Don't You Leave Me II

_A/N: Many thanks to the reviewers. I appreciate it so very much._

_For the readers out there: if you've done things you regret, if you loved someone so much and pushed them away until you lost them, this is for you._

_Especially for SKM, who is the Quinn of my life; and SLA, who would be Puck. Though it would be seriously weird if you guys got together. Blegh, yuck. Haha._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven [Part Two]: Don't You Leave Me<strong>

My life was reduced to a series of cacophonic bursts that got me moving to the beat of a drum that constantly changed in rhythm.

Or maybe I just couldn't hear the beat anymore, and all I was doing was attempting to make sense of everything happening around me, trying desperately to find cohesion in all the things I used to have control over but were fast slipping out of my grasp. My effort at pretense was pathetic, though, because things just fucking didn't make sense.

Not without her.

"I can't believe you." was the only thing Quinn said that night, when she dragged me off the roof after Rory came to pick Brittany up. "I can't fucking believe you."

_I know_, I wanted to say then. _I don't believe me either. _But I said nothing, and Quinn must have seen something on my face, because her scowl faded and she pulled me into her arms instead. I didn't have it in me to push her away.

A few days later – after many sleepless nights and skipped meals – I found myself sitting on the couch of Puckerman's basement. School was resuming in a few days, and I there was no way on earth that I was going to go back sober.

"I think you should slow down." Or at least, that's what I think he said. It was difficult to distinguish the words he was saying with the low buzz in my ears, tuning out other sounds around me. "Shit, Lopez. Can you fucking hear me? Slow down."

I shook my head – or I tried to, at least, my head seemed unnaturally heavy – and lifted the bottle up to my lips, inadvertently scraping my teeth with the rim.

"Fuck." I felt myself saying, the swearword sounding like mush to my ears. "Fuck, Puck, you suck," I dissolved into a fit of giggles that were painful to do and hear.

"Well, shit." He seemed to mutter. He looked at me with an expression that clearly was the epitome of brotherly concern. It pissed me off for some reason.

"Whatcha lookin aht?" I demanded, trying to reach forward to push his face away. I was obviously a lot more drunk than I thought, because I ended up missing my target and falling across the floor. The impact of my face falling flat on the cold linoleum should have hurt at least a little bit, but all I felt was a weird tingle from my nose. I clenched my hand, but the bottle I was holding seemed to have rolled away. I shrugged.

"You're bleeding, San."

I winced, phantom slicing down my torso like an imaginary knife splitting me in half. "Duun't cahll me thaat." I tried to yell, but it was too late. Like a nuclear explosion I was bombarded with the image of Brittany in my mind, her eyes broken, her tears sharp and clear on her cheeks. I tried to push myself to my feet, but all I ended up doing was filling my mouth with warm, rust-tasting liquid. A second later, when I registered that it was my blood, I spat it out, saliva mixing with it on the floor.

"No, no, oh come on. I don't want your freaking drool on my floor, too." He groaned. I felt his hands wrap around my shoulders, heaving me up slowly. "Come on, get up." He lifted me into his arms and guided me back into his couch. "Please don't try to fall." He begged, pushing me as far into the cushion as possible.

My eyelids began drifting downwards just as he reached into his pocket, furiously punching out a number on his keypad. The blood was still trickling down my nose, leaving paths of sticky tingling, and in my mind all I could see was _her her her_.

"It's Puck." I heard him say, his voice urgent. "She's wasted, I need you to come over… Yeah, I know I shouldn't have made her drink so much – how the fuck was I supposed to know she couldn't handle… Jesus, just come over already, she's bleeding on my couch."

I felt the couch sag a little, then his warm hands on my face. "Lopez, what the fuck are we going to do with you?" He breathed, just as I felt something cold and damp pressing against my nose. I jerked away from it, moving my head away. The movement made me feel like puking.

"Keep still, will you?" He snapped. "I'm trying to stop the God damn bleeding."

My eyes opened then, but only to tiny slits. Everything around me was going in and out of focus, like I was looking at the world through a really bad camera lens. Puck's face zoomed in and out of the picture, until I go dizzy just looking at him. He pressed a white cloth to my face, holding down for a long moment. When he pulled it away, there was a blob of red on it, like a Rorschach blot. If I stared at it long enough I probably would have _her_ in it, too.

"There, now you don't look so Holloween-y." He said softly, wiping my face one final time. "I've got to clean up the mess a bit." He sighed. "Before someone steps on your beer or your saliva or your blood." He shuddered. "Gross."

"Sorry." I tried to mumble, closing my eyes again. I turned my head against the light and straight into the soft material of the couch, burying my head as far as it would go, trying to fight back the crystal clear picture of her in my mind.

I fell asleep dreaming of the ocean in her eyes.

/

"–fix things?"

"–don't know…pretty fucked..."

"–don't get it…"

"–long story…Sectionals…attacked…Britt's mom…San's dad…bullying in school…"

Low whistle. "Shit, that is pretty fucked…"

I rolled to another side and the voices quieted for a moment, and in the silence I fell back to sleep dreaming of the sound of her voice.

/

I opened my eyes.

My mouth tasted like a sewer and my head was pounding like a war drum. I groaned slightly and turned to the side slowly, trying to figure out where I was with as little movement as possible. I blinked several moments before I realized I was still on Puckerman's couch, a thick blanket draped over my cautiously. I pushed it off slowly, trying to sit up without inducing the feeling of puking.

There was a glass of water on the table nearby, along with what I seriously hoped was an aspirin. I needed one desperately like air.

I stood slowly, stretching my weary muscles. I took the glass in my hands and took a small gulp, before taking the pill and throwing it into my mouth and depleting the rest of the water. Just as I set the glass down, my eyes roamed the room unconsciously, freezing when I spotted two other people.

I walked slowly over towards them, careful not to make a sound. Fully dressed, Quinn was sleeping with her back to Puck, her pink hair covering most of her face. Puck, also completely dressed, had an arm draped over her waist, his fingers intertwined around hers.

It was amazing to see, but it hurt in the most painful way imaginable.

"I'm happy for you both." I said in a low voice that I knew they couldn't hear. My eyes watered involuntarily and I raised my hand to wipe away the tears that managed to escape. "So, so happy." I tried not to choke.

I walked back over to the couch, took the blanket, and carefully draped it over both their sleeping forms. Then I made my way up the stairs and out the door, walking out into the cold air.

/

Senior year was supposed to be the year I finally got everything, I thought to myself as I navigated my way through the crowded halls of McKinley, ignoring the insults being thrown my way. Why was it that it was rapidly disintegrating into the year I was losing everything?

I raised my eyes from ground level and saw her standing a few feet away. My entire body froze in response, like I had spontaneously grown roots that anchored me to that spot in the hallway.

"Hey, Santana!" It was like a loud wake-up call. Like a reflex, I automatically turned my head towards the sound of my name, craning my head a little to see a little better.

Stupid, really.

I shut my eyes and held my breath when the contents of the cup was tossed into my face, but I was surprised when it wasn't freezing, or even relatively sticky. I heard someone gasp nearby, and I could have almost sworn it was her, but before I could whirl around to confirm it another cup was tossed into my face. The liquid was clear, and dripped easily from my skin. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn it was just water.

"Some holy water for you, Satan!"

Oh, I see.

Biting back a sigh, I wiped most of the liquid away with the edge of my sleeve, simultaneously blinking away the liquid pooling in my eyes. When someone thrust what felt like tissue into my hands, I took it gratefully and dried my face with it.

"Thanks." I mumbled, surprised when I realized that it Kurt standing in front of me, Blaine not so far behind him. I took an involuntary step back, unsure of what to expect.

Kurt looked at me for a long moment. But for once he was looking at me like he didn't want to skin me alive, instead wearing an expression that was thoughtful and searching. I swallowed, stammering, "Uh…Hi."

Blaine glanced at Kurt, almost as though looking for instruction. Kurt inclined his head in a small nod at me. "Hello, Santana." He said, before straightening his jacket and patting away imaginary dirt. When he found nothing else amiss in his outfit, he looked back at me and murmured, "It will help you a lot if you carried tissue regularly." Then he turned around – Blaine followed – and walked away.

/

"Are you playing hooky?"

I looked up from the reviewer I was making to the big, hulking figure of Dave Karofsky standing over me. "Are you talking to me?" I asked, frowning.

He looked pointedly across the empty library. "Unless I have some mental disorder which keeps me from seeing other people."

I rolled my eyes at his lame attempt at sarcasm. "What do you want, Karofsky?" I asked tiredly, looking back down at the reviewer.

Much to my extreme annoyance, he pulled out the chair adjacent to mine and sat down easily. "I'm doing my job." He replied, clasping his hands together. "What are you doing there?" He asked, leaning forward towards the reviewers.

"Job?" I hissed, shoving the papers together so he wouldn't see the contents.

He nodded, pointing at his shiny, red jacket. The Bully Whips uniform. Stunned, I looked back at him. "We were disbanded."

"We've been reinstated."

"Reinstated?" I echoed in disbelief. "We dissolved automatically after prom last year. Who in their right minds would reinstate us?"

He inhaled slowly. "I think you should know the answer to your own question."

I blinked, my heart thudding to a stop. "No." I shook my head. "No way."

My skepticism was met with a quiet stare.

"She–" I paused, a lump forming in my throat. I struggled with the words for a long moment, trying to get them to leave my throat. When I failed, I settled for a strangled, "Why?"

"She saw you being bullied the other day. The holy water thing? Yeah, she saw that." He leaned back, his arms crossing over his chest. "Then she talked to me yesterday. She asked me to…" his eyes swept over my small frame, "…protect you."

"I don't need protection." I responded automatically.

For some bizarre reason, that made him smile. "Yeah, she said you were going to react like this." He motioned towards my incredulous expression. "She told me to protect you anyway, even if you didn't want me to."

"But…why? _Fucking why?_"

He said nothing to an extremely long, painful moment, his expression slowly shifting to something serious and sad, and maybe a little bit jealous. "I think you know why."

I felt my bottom lip quivering, and I had to look away so he wouldn't see the lone tear slip torturously slowly down my cheek.

Later that day, I opened Brittany's locker in the empty hallways. Karofsky was with me, watching with guarded eyes as I put in the latest reviewer. He said nothing when I tucked the folded sheets into a prominent position, and again said nothing when my fingers lingered a little bit too long on the photo she had of the two of us.

/

It happened when January was coming to a close.

I was in the library, completing the reviewer for yet another class I was missing. It was ironic, really: most people assumed I was cutting class because I didn't have the patience to learn anything. But by breaking down the subject matter as thoroughly as I could, I was effectively learning the material so much more than in the typical classroom setting.

Not that it mattered, though. At the end of the day, a cut class is still a cut class. And I knew that if I managed to perform well in a test that covered topics I wasn't around to listen to, they'd just accuse me of cheating. It's pretty fucked up, but with the different kinds of shit in my life, it barely mattered.

I trudged towards Brittany's locker, slightly relieved and slightly proud at the completion of the sixth reviewer this month. The subject matter was a bit complicated, and winding it down to basic terms developed a killer migraine in my head that made me want to fall asleep so badly.

I raised my hand to the lock and carefully set in her combo. When I finished, I yanked at the padlock expectantly, but it remained tightly clasped.

I blinked, suddenly feeling insanely wide awake. Reaching for the lock again, I re-did the same combination, only to get the exact same result: the lock wouldn't budge, not even an inch.

_She changed it,_ my mind was repeated endlessly. _She fucking changed it. For the first time since freshman year, she fucking changed her locker combination._

Numbed, I moved to my locker beside hers and opened it on a random whim. What I saw taped to the insides of my locker door punched the air out of my body like a fist to the sternum.

I took the note in my hands, reading and re-reading the four words in her unique penmanship, until I could see it clearly engraved in my mind.

_**Please stop. It hurts.**_

I felt defeat, crushing and all-powerful, sweep through me in a single blow, hitting me in the face like a perfectly aimed shot. My knees gave in, the air pushed out of my body, my joints snapping closed involuntarily. I imagined my guts exploding inside of me, acid spilling out into different organs of my body, melting tissue and throwing off my internal pH value.

"Whoa, hey, are you alright?" Quinn's voice burst into the bubble of my consciousness, her arms wrapping under my armpits from behind and pulling me back on my feet. "What's the matter?"

I looked at her, feeling completely and utterly lost. "Q." I managed to gasp, grasping the edges of her sleeves tightly, holding on for dear life. "Q." The note crumpled in my hand, but I refused to let it go.

"I'm here." She said, panic leaking into her voice. She gathered me in her arms. "I'm here."

/

It was the morning of a February school day, but I was still lying flat on Quinn's massive bed, unwilling to be coaxed out of it for the fourth day in a row. Quinn had tried to talk me into all the reasons why completely missing school was hardly the solution to anything, but all her rationalizations had fallen flat on deaf ears. Puck had sneaked in through the window and had attempted to pull me off the mattress, but all that got him was a superbly thrown punch in the nads that had him limping towards the bathroom. Rachel and Blaine had even showed up late one afternoon, trying to charm me into the extravagant New Directions rehearsals for Nationals, but singing and dancing were the last things I wanted to do on earth.

"So what then?" Rachel demanded, her voice taking a slightly hysterical tone. "Are you just going to stay here and allow yourself to lose your talent?"

I looked at her then. Her eyes were shining with sincere concern, but it did nothing to make me feel any better. "There are worse things to lose. Please just go." I buried my face back into the pillows, closing me eyes.

When I looked up again, I was alone in the room.

/

It was such a fucking cliché, but my iPod became my best friend. My iPod, which I recently reduced from thousands of songs to only seventy. Quinn had jokingly called it _The Sound of Heartbreak _just the night before, and though I had smiled thinly back, we both knew she was right.

It was the second week of my self-isolation, and I was sitting in the spotless Fabray kitchen, swirling around the cereal in the bowl mindlessly. Music was blaring into my eardrums, and I didn't bother to think about what track was playing at the moment. They all had the same effect, anyway: they took the emotions swirling in the pool of my heart and amplified it until I felt like I was drowning in them.

_I will softly pull away in this broken, beautiful mess I've made. And in the dead and quiet, I will slowly fade in this masterpiece I made. - Is there anyone out there, somewhere I can belong? - We could have had it all. - It's over and done. - Lost and buried under everything that I need, when all I want is you. - I'd kill myself to make everything perfect for you. - But I set fire to the rain. - I'm never going back again. - Next time, I'll be braver. - Hearts are filled with holes and emptiness. - Are you listening? I need you now. - Don't stop now, I need this to hurt. Burn it into my mind. - Save me with your love tonight. - Love is a losing game. - Don't waste your time on me, you're already the voice inside my head. - I can't breathe easy. - Let me hold you for the last time, it's the last chance to feel again. - I don't want to swallow such a bitter pill. - I'm undone, without you now, I'm in a million pieces._

There it was. A sampler of the fucking soundtrack of my life, summarized in roughly 280 minutes of music.

I emptied the rest of my breakfast into the sink, and crept up the stairs towards Quinn's bedroom.

"Get dressed." A voice barked at me as soon as I opened the door. I looked up in surprise. Kurt Hummel was standing in the center of the room, his bright, flamboyant outfit looking drastically out of place. Quinn was seated by her desk, looking at me critically.

"What?" I asked dumbly, staring at him. "What are you doing here?"

"You're coming to school today, Santana." He informed me, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. "So go and take a shower and get dressed."

I shook my head, heading towards the bed. "Don't feel like it." I mumbled.

"Well, neither does half the population of students in America. But you know what? They go anyway."

I plopped back down on the bed, ignoring him. Quinn was by my side instantly, slipping her arms around my torso and pulling me up to a sitting position.

"Get off me." I reacted, flinging my arms out in a wild attempt to push her off.

"You have a promise to keep." She growled all of a sudden, pinning my arms to my side. "Or have you forgotten? You have a fucking promise to keep." I saw Kurt raise his eyebrow subtly in curiosity.

Quinn and I glared at each other for a long moment before I finally deflated. "I can't." I pleaded. "Quinn, I can't. You know I can't." I burst into tearless sobs. "She doesn't want me to."

She grabbed both my hands. "You can." I shook my head. "Santana." Her grip tightened, and she pulled me so I was forced to look her in the eye. "If there's anyone on this planet who can, it's you, Santana. You want to know how I know how?" I sniffed slightly. She pressed on. "Because you've got people like me who are here to help you."

/

"I can't believe I'm doing this." I muttered darkly, weaving my way through the hallway with Quinn, Karofsky not far behind us. "I legitimately cannot fucking believe I'm doing this."

"Get over it." Quinn shot back, but not unkindly. "I've got to put away some shit in my locker." She nodded towards a corner of the hallway. "Meet you in class?"

"I don't even want to be here." I moaned, crossing my arms over my chest. Quinn glared. "Fuck, fine. I'll see you in class."

She nodded, satisfied, before making her way towards her locker. I was about to turn around and march directly to the library, when I caught a glimpse of Rachel's retreating form and something just clicked in my mind, confidence flooding my system in a flash.

"Berry!" I hollered, making my way to her. Karofsky followed without hesitation. Rachel stopped at the sound of her name and rotated, meeting my eye.

"Santana!" She replied, in a surprised but pleasant voice. Her face transformed into an approving expression. "It's great to see you back." Her gaze shifted to the Bully Whip behind me, her eyebrows rising ever-so-slightly.

"I need a favor." I blurted out abruptly, skipping all the small talk altogether. Her eyes snapped back to me, suddenly uncertain.

"Uh–Alright."

"I need you to tutor Brittany."

She looked at me for a long moment, her mouth opening slightly. "I-I'm sorry?"

"I need you to tutor Brittany." I repeated slowly. Her entire face shone with confusion, before she replied, in a considerably softer voice,

"Santana, I – are you serious?"

I nodded vigorously. "As serious as I can possibly be."

Her eyes travelled left and right for a few moments, his brow furrowing in deep thought. "Why me?"

"Other than the fact that you are freakishly smart?" I rolled my eyes, taking a deep breath. "You're the one person she would never suspect was acting under my request."

Rachel frowned slightly. "Santana–" she began haltingly, "while I do hold the highest respect for what you're trying to do here–"

"Please, Rachel." I begged, shutting my eyes in agony, wishing, hoping, praying to God she would understand. "It's just… I can't. I can't be there for her and…Someone needs to be. Rachel, just, fuck, please. I'm begging here."

She sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead with two fingers. "I can't promise anything. But I will try."

"Thank you." I said, as honestly as I could manage. "Rachel, I… I know things haven't been ideal, but…thank you."

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment I felt an odd sense of kinship with her. "Well..." She gave a small shrug. "For Brittany." She gave me a small smile, then turned around and walked away.

Beside me, I felt Karofsky take a step closer, a warm hand closing itself over my arm. I dropped my gaze, feeling suddenly very small and tired. "Yeah. For Brittany."

/

"There's something I want to share." All the heads in the choir room turned to Brittany, who was bouncing nervously on her chair. "Something I want to sing." She clarified.

Mr. Schue was clearly surprised, but he stepped back anyway, saying, "Oh, wow, that's great, Brittany. Take it away!"

I suddenly felt extremely tense, my fingers digging deeply into my knees. Beside me, I saw Puck and Quinn exchange a nervous glance.

Brittany stood up and slowly made her way to the center of the room. Her gaze seemed plastered to her multi-colored sneakers for a long moment, before looking up at us.

"This was actually supposed to be for Valentine's Day, but I…" She swallowed nervously, "I think maybe now would be the right time to sing this. Since, you know," She gave me a meaningful glance. "Since we're all here."

"Holy shit." I heard Quinn whisper beside me. I was thinking the exact same thing.

Brittany turned her head towards the piano man and gave a tiny nod.

"_So little to say but so much time,  
>despite my empty mouth the words are in my mind.<em>

_Please wear the face, the one where you smile,  
>because you lighten up my heart when I start to cry."<em>

I felt my entire throat close up. Her vocals weren't perfect, but the emotion with which she expressed herself was incredibly powerful. It blew me away into an ocean of emotions that tossed and turned with turbulent waves.

"_Forgive me first love, but I'm tired.  
>I need to get away to feel again.<em>

_Try to understand why, don't get so close to change my mind.  
>Please wipe that look out of your eyes, it's bribing me to doubt myself.<br>Simply, it's tiring."_

She paused, her voice wavering slightly. Her blue eyes turned to me, locking with mine, and I just knew. I knew that she was singing to me. It was the first time anyone had ever sung a song for me, and it was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced.

"_This love has dried up and stayed behind,  
>And if I stay I'll be alive.<br>Then choke on words I'd always hide._

_Excuse me first love, but we're through.  
>I need to taste the kiss from someone new."<em>

Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and the sniffing from the other occupants in the room informed me that many others were crying, too. My chest felt like it had gaping holes in it, a giant cavity where my heart used to be.

"_Forgive me first love, but I'm too tired.  
>I'm bored to say the least and I, I lack desire."<em>

She never looked away.

"_Forgive me first love, forgive me first love, forgive me first love, forgive me first love, forgive me, forgive me first love."_

She paused, her voice breaking. For a moment she dropped her head, her body trembling slightly. Then she looked back at me and finished in a quiet but strong voice,

"_Forgive me first love."_

/

Quinn found me sitting in the janitor's closet, my face tear-streaked and my soul in tatters in my hands.

She sat down beside me, took my hand, and said nothing.


	13. Bigger Than The Both Of Us I

_**Decidated to myself, because right now I want to set the whole world on fire.**_

**Chapter Eight [Part One]: Bigger Than The Both Of Us**

"_I go back to black."_

_Back to Black, Naya Rivera_

* * *

><p>I'm not even sure how I survived.<p>

I'm not even sure why I survived.

/

Days came and went. I never really realized until that point how days could just be lost. Lost to the tragically mundane, to the essentially existence-eradicating routine: _if you can, get out of bed. If you can, get in the shower. If you can, get dressed. If you can, eat something._

Some days I would pull off the routine, and I'd spend the rest of the days doing marathons of TV shows I didn't really like, or books I didn't really care about. My body was always there but my mind would always wander.

I lived most of my days having accomplished absolutely nothing.

"That's…alright." Quinn whispered to me one night, when I told her about it in the pitch black dark. I felt her moving in the darkness, until her hand intertwined with mine. "Sometimes it's alright if all you get to do in a day is breathe, Santana."

I let her hold my hand for a little bit longer, before letting go and turning away. As the hours ticked by, I listened to sound of Quinn's even breathing, thinking about the long gone nights with Brittany's arms wrapped tightly around my waist, her breath tickling my shoulder.

/

"I heard her family's going camping this weekend." Quinn dared to mention one morning, while we both sat on the couch pretending to watch _House_. I felt my fingers close on themselves, my breath squeezing in my lungs.

I shrugged as nonchalantly as possibly. "Yeah." I said tightly, trying not to burst into tears. "They are. They do. Every spring break."

"Oh." She glanced at me through the corner of her eyes, I pretended not to notice. "How'd you know?"

_Because it's the first time in years that I haven't been invited._ "Never mind." I sighed, waving my hand dismissively. "I just do."

/

Puck was around a lot more often, especially after Spring Break. Most days he brought Quinn home from school, and they'd do homework together on the floor of her bedroom.

Quinn brought my homework to me, too, though I rarely did it. She'd do it for me, though, even if I never asked her to. The first time I caught her completing my homework for me was another turning point in our friendship.

"Don't do that." I said heavily, trying to pull back my homework sheet. "I don't need you to answer my fucking homework, Fabray."

"If I didn't, you wouldn't bother." She said, obviously trying to sound patient. It struck me that she was wearing a white top today – the first non-black article she'd donned since the start of the school year. It made me take an automatic step back.

"So? I don't care." I replied, trying to keep my mind grounded on the conversation at hand. But all I could think about was how Quinn was changing – again – and I didn't even notice. I was becoming a stranger to everyone.

Almost as though she could tell I was internally freaking out, she walked forward and grasped my hand in hers, tight and warm. It had an immediate pacifying effect on me, one that made the tension evaporate off my body. "Well, I do." She said clearly and distinctly, emphasizing each syllable delicately. "I care."

Behind her, I saw Puck watching us warily. If push came to shove, I knew he would come to her rescue. It was just a natural reaction to him, something that was an inherent given. Like Puck was to Quinn as Santana was to Brittany.

I winced, dropping Quinn's hand like it was a bag of burning coals. _Not anymore,_ I reminded myself in my head. _You aren't hers anymore._

"Fine." I heard myself murmuring. "Fine."

Quinn beamed and Puck relaxed, and I felt so oddly out of place.

"Let's do something for weekend." He suggested eagerly, standing and moving closer to us. "We can take your car, Lopez, and drive off to wherever." He winked. "What you think?"

I felt an involuntary sting. Brittany wanted to do that sometime in sophomore year, but I had put my foot down. "I haven't had my car since senior year started, dumbass." I said coolly, hoping he would just drop it. "Father dearest took away driving privileges."

He gave a low whistle. "And you let him, Lopez?" He gave a mock gasp. "Time to set things right!" He threw an arm around both of us. "What you ladies say we show the man who the boss is?"

I shrugged his arm off. "No, thanks." I stumbled back unto the bed, falling face-first. "I don't want to go driving anywhere."

There was a pause. "Shit, Lopez, when the hell did you get so boring?"

"Not interested, dick head. Back off." Without looking, I took a pillow and tossed it in his direction. The _oof_ that went through the room told me I met my target. "Besides, you can't get to that car."

He chuckled. "Whatever, Lopez. What if I manage to get your car, anyway?"

I looked up and squinted at him. Beside him, their hands almost touching, Quinn looked faintly amused. "You won't."

Puck smirked arrogantly. "I'll take that as a challenge." He took a step closer to the bed, looming over me. "But if I do manage to get it, you need to do something in exchange."

I felt myself stiffen.

"Not involving Bri–you know, her." He added quickly. "But you do need to agree to come back to school. For real."

"Is he serious?" I asked Quinn, looking at her over Puck's shoulder. She looked faintly surprised at the brilliance of his deal, but a small, tentative smile began to make its way into her face.

"Absolutely, babe." He winked. I groaned, rolling over to the other side of the bed. "Awww, come on, Lopez!" I felt a finger digging into my ribs, deep and insisitent. "Come on! What do you have to lose, anyway?"

"Fuck!" I snapped, pushing him off. "Fine."

/

"Well, I must say I am sincerely impressed." I said dryly when Puck came by almost a week later, dangling my car keys in his forefinger. Before I could get them from him, though, he snatched back his hand.

"Are you gonna keep your part of the bargain?" He demanded, frowning. "You swear you're not going to cut class anymore?"

I sighed inwardly. "Whatever."

"You'll come to glee rehearsals?"

I glared at him. "Don't push your luck, Puckerman."

He rolled his fine. "Fine. You're such a damn drama queen, you know that?"

I punched him in the shoulder. "Give me the fucking keys, Puckerman, or I swear will ends you."

He slapped the keys into my open hand. "Seriously, though. Glee isn't the same without you." Shrugging, he continued, "'Sides, I think it'll do you good. Running away isn't gonna fix anything." He turned away and headed for the door. "Think about it."

/

"Stop tailing me." I said over my shoulder, where I knew Karofsky was standing.

"No can do, Lopez. President Pierce told me not to stop."

I sighed loudly. "Please, please, just go away. She won't know if you take the day off, you know. Seriously, just leave me alone."

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. "She talks to me every day, you know that?" is grip loosened. "Every day she reminds me to do my job as a Bully Whip. She asks me every single damn day to take care of you if you decide to show up for class." He pointed a finger at me. "I might not be the biggest fan of this whole stupid thing, but I respect her. That means nothing you say or do will ever make me stop trying to protect you."

"Santana!" I whipped my head around at the sound of Rachel's voice. She hurried towards me from the end of the hall, dragging Finn behind her. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm not coming back to glee." I said automatically, without even blinking.

"What?" She was taken aback, before shaking her head. "Oh, I wasn't going to talk to you about that. Actually, I was going to talk about Brittany."

I felt my face contort before I could help myself. "Yeah?" I asked through tight lips.

Rachel inhaled deeply, before rushing out, "She doesn't want me to tutor her anymore."

"What?" I asked, dumbstruck. "What do you mean, she doesn't want you to tutor her anymore?"

"I don't know. She told me she failed to comprehend most of the things I tried explaining to her over the course of our review sessions."

I closed my eyes tiredly, rubbing my forehead in exasperation. "You needed to translate things to Britt-speak, Berry."

She but her lip, eyes shifting. "To be quite frank, you seem to be the only one who comprehends the language of her mind, Santana." She took a small step back. "I'm sorry." She sighed. "But I can't help you anymore. It's exhausting, and to be quite blunt, it distracts me from other things I would be more productive in."

"Fuck." I snapped loudly, as she turned around and scurried away, Finn attached to her hip. I hit an imaginary opponent. "Fuck, fuck." The bell rang loudly, and students began to rush to their classrooms. I turned around to head to mine, surprised to see Karofsky still standing there.

"What?" I almost growled, trying to move past him. But he moved to block my path, a questioning look on his face.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Karofsky asked cautiously, holding up his hands in an attempt to diffuse the tension swirling around us like a vortex, sucking everything in.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the insane urge to lash out. "This is Brittany we're talking about." I clenched my fists and thrust them into my pockets. Anything to stop myself from doing something I might regret.

"Exactly." He pointed out, lowering his hands. "I mean, I don't get it. You're trying so hard to be in her life, even if she doesn't know it. Why don't you just tell her what the problem is – whatever the fuck it actually is – so you can both find a solution to it? You know, together?"

I shook my head sorrowfully. "It's not that simple."

He snorted. "This is Brittany we're talking about. I'm sure if you told her–"

"I can't." I interrupted, slamming my palm flat into a locker.

"Why the hell not?" He demanded.

"Because this is fucking Brittany we're talking about!" I growled, turning to look at him fully.

"She'd understand."

"That's the point!" I screamed, clenching my hands into tiny tight fists. "That's the fucking point! She'll tell me that I'm being silly, and that I shouldn't be afraid, and that we'll be fine. But we won't, asshole, we fucking won't. Because even if she'll reassure me endlessly that she can take whatever shit people will throw her way, I will still see the fucking sadness lingering in her God damn eyes, and it will fucking break me to know that I caused it, one way or another."

He looked stunned, and I continued on madly. "Do you have any idea how shitty I feel about all this? She's the only person I've ever loved in this whole godforsaken world. You think I don't regret it every day? You're fucking wrong. But believe it or not, this is what's best. What's best for her."

"Oh yeah?" He sneered, taking a step closer to me daringly. "You think you're doing any better by pushing her away and letting her walk away from you? You think she isn't sad now?"

I rammed myself against him before I could control myself. I began to hit him as much as I could, in any possible area with all the possible body parts. I didn't care that I was probably hurting myself a lot more than I was hurting him, I just needed to let it out, I needed to show someone how fucking angry I was, how lonely and broken and shattered –

"FIGHT BACK!" I heard myself yelling hysterically, shoving my fist into his left shoulder. "Fight back, you son of a bitch, fight back!"

"I can't." He replied, his voice suddenly surreally calm, his hands gripping my wrists tightly. "If I do, there'll be two fighting you: me and yourself."

I collapsed then, in my own little pathetic fashion. I folded into myself, falling into his arms.

"You know what you seem to have forgotten, Lopez?" He asked in gruff voice, holding me upright. "You know what you didn't think about?" He shook me until I was facing him, looking deeply into the eyes that were more vulnerable than they seemed. "You aren't the only person involved in this relationship, Santana." He released my wrists slowly. "You say she's the only person who's ever gotten you in this whole world?" He paused, moving closer until our noses were inches apart. "Well, you're the only person who ever bothered to get her." He backed away slowly, moving away. "You aren't the only one who lost something here, Lopez. She lost something, too."


	14. Bigger Than The Both of Us II

Thank you for all your reviews. I promise all the questions will be cleared out soon.

I'd like to apologize. I feel like the last few updates have been incoherent and lacking in terms of emotional depth. Also, sorry for the late update. It's the last two weeks of the semester and I am buried under "academic obligations." Not to mention memorizing lines for a damn play.

Plus it's damn difficult to write angst when the real thing is so, so good.

Well, regardless, I have attempted. Tell me what you think.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight [Part Two]: Bigger Than The Both Of Us<strong>

Karofsky stood over me.

His words resounded in my head, echoing like long lost ghosts calling across a forgotten mountainside. It set something off inside of me, a confusing amalgamation of denial, fear and fury. I didn't know how to react to all the feelings that were bubbling to the surface rapidly. So I did the only thing I was ever really good at.

"Get off me." I snapped, pushing Karofsky away with renewed force. He stumbled backwards, throwing his arm out to grasp the handle of a locker in an attempt to break his fall. I stepped back, away from him. "Don't you ever fucking dare tell me–" I pointed to him menacingly, "–what to do, or what to fucking feel." The words coming out of my mouth felt like fire: melting my throat with heat and searing my mouth until I could practically taste blood. "You have no right. You have no fucking right." I threw my fist into a locker, busting my knuckles and making a large dent on the metal surface. He winced at the sound, taking a step back. "You, the boy who bullied the only out gay in school because you couldn't deal with your own sorry pathetic little closet situation!" I yelled the words as loudly as I could, no longer caring whether or not people could hear me. _Let them,_ I thought bitterly.

He looked on sadly, remaining silent while I went on. "You're nothing but a coward, Dave Karofsky. Can you fucking hear me? You're a fucking coward."

His entire expression changed, and his gaze shifted from my face to something behind me. "Santana." He choked out, like a warning.

I shook my head until I almost felt dizzy. "I'm not fucking finished, you stu–"

"San."

I felt my joints stiffen, my muscles freeze. _Fuck, God no._ I ground my teeth as thoroughly as I could, closing my eyes as I let the sound of her voice wash over me.

"Are you okay?"

My entire body almost went into shock when I felt her hand settle heavily on my shoulder, holding me back from the escape we both knew I was capable of making. Her fingers closed firmly over me, though she was careful not to dig them in too deeply. I tried not to react when I heard her move closer, the warmth of her body mere inches away from the coldness of mine. All of a sudden, the ring that was against my heart – tucked hidden under my shirt – felt hostile and unbearably heavy. _Forgive me first love_, resounded mockingly in my mind.

"San?" Her voice was prodding, gentle, careful. The kind of voice a wildlife conservationalist would use when approaching a dying, wounded animal. _Forgive me first love._

I wanted to reply, but the neurons of my brain were failing to send the signals to my mouth. So instead, I lifted my eyes to Karofsky, begging him wordlessly to say something for me.

"We're fine." He said, in a voice that was a poor attempt of reassurance. He cleared his throat several times, before repeating, "We're fine."

It was crazy how I knew the exact facial expression she was wearing at the moment, without even turning around to see her. I knew that her head would be tilted to one side, her eyes clouded with doubt, a slight pout on her face. I knew that her gaze was burning holes into the back of my head, waiting patiently for an answer.

And I knew that she wouldn't leave unless it came from me.

"You heard him." I said, my voice surprisingly steady – and heart-wrenchingly aggressive. I stepped forward slightly, forcing her hand to fall off my shoulder. I knew that the sound of her hand dropping to her side with a loud slap was going to haunt me in my darkest nightmares, another thing to feel intensely guilty about. _My fault,_ I thought to myself angrily, almost unable to hold back the tears of fury in my eyes. _Always my fucking fault._

"Alright." I heard her whisper from behind me. For a long moment the three of us stood in silence, and I imagined what we must have looked like to an outsider: a big, surly boy facing a shaking Latina, her head down and her hands in fists. And behind her a tall, blonde cheerleader, her body still angles towards the smaller girl, her eyes shattered.

_If she doesn't leave,_ I found myself thinking in my head, _she still loves me._

When she turned around and walked away, I felt a piece of my soul wrench free, shrivel up, and die.

/

"…_enables the cells to proceed to suicide, or apoptosis." _

My brain felt heavy in my skull, like it had packed several pounds of mush from thin air. I watched the instructor droning on and on, hearing the words leaving her tongue and seeing the words she was writing on the board. But nothing I my senses observed were registering in my mind, as though the bridge between observation and understanding had gone up in flames.

I looked warily around the room, careful to avoid the area where I knew she would be sitting. Several of the Cheerios were sitting in a corner together, exchanging pieces I knew were filled with insults. One of them looked up and saw me watching them. She sneered at me – it was weird to think that this girl used to cower at me when I was still her captain – and she said in a clear, loud voice, "What are you looking at, dyke?"

Sniggers broke out across the room. I felt heat creep into my cheeks, and I turned away. My eyes inadvertently glanced in her direction, and she was watching me with an unreadable expression.

_If she defends me,_ I thought traitorously to myself, _she still loves me._

Almost like tempting fate, I looked back and turned my gaze to her completely. Our eyes locked across the room, electric blue and warm brown. Briefly, I wondered it were possible for her to see everything past the walls of defenses I'd built, if she could still see through me the way she used to – the regret, the pain, the chaos deep inside.

She turned back to the front of class and said nothing.

/

Days passed. Weeks. A whole fucking month. I'd made it through somehow. Contrary to popular belief, heartbreak doesn't exactly physically kill you or render you incapable of carrying out the basic requirements for being alive. After all, I knew that all the cells in my body were still carrying out all the necessary criteria for me to be considered a living specie.

But in the places where it really mattered, like the part of me I'd recently discovered was my soul? I was dead there. It's just that there are very few people who know us as we truly are – as a result, they never really know that there are pieces of us that have already vanished.

I made it worse, I think, by all the_ ifs_ I'd made up in my mind every day. _If she's by her locker when I walk down the hallway, it means I should talk to her. If she's in the ladies room when I walk in, it means I should beg her to take me back. If she looks at me today it means I need to tell her everything._

It was torture, sweet and pure and real. It made me bleed in places no one – not even I – could see, made me weep in the darkest corners of my mind.

Not because most of the time my private pleadings would go unanswered – she wouldn't be by her locker, she wouldn't be in the ladies room, she wouldn't look at me – but because of the times when it would come true. The times she was at her locker but I would walk by her as though it meant nothing to me. The times she was in the ladies room and I never said the words that were burning like spices in my mouth. The times she would look at me, with questions lingering in her quiet eyes, and all I could do was look away.

It was pathetic. But like a vulnerable mind introduced to the most addictive of vices, I couldn't stop coming up with the _ifs_. They just poured from the innermost circles of my beat-up brain.

"You look like you went to prison and became someone's fucking bitch."

I looked up to Puck's frowning face, looking down at me.

"Heading to class." I replied in a dead voice, trying to walk past him. When he blocked my way, I raised one eyebrow slightly and muttered, "I have a bodyguard, Puckerman, haven't you noticed?" I stuck my thumb out, motioning to the figure of Karofsky standing behind me. Puck looked him up and down once, before calling out,

"Dude, I'll take over your duties for the day, alright? I gotta talk to my girl here."

"I'm not your girl." I muttered darkly at Puck as I turned to face Karofsky.

"I dunno." The Bully Whip shot me a quick glance. "You gotta take real good care of her. Pierce will kill me if…" He trailed off, his eyes boring into Puck's warningly.

"Got it." Puck nods once. When Karofsky lingered unmovingly, Puck took a step forward and said in a cool, steady voice, "You can trust me."

Karofsky looked torn for a moment. His eyes turned to me, and I gave him a single, tiny nod. It seemed to reassure him, so he nodded once, before walking off to his next class.

The bell rang loudly. I turned to Puck, keeping my face emotionless. "What do you want?" I said tiredly. "Couldn't it have waited until after school? You know, when you come by to hang out over at Quinn's?" I rolled my eyes. "You're there every fucking day."

His expression shifted to something akin to nervousness and his eyes drifted up and down the hallways, making sure it was empty.

"I…I wanted to as you for a favor."

It wasn't the response I was expecting, so I moved back a bit to get a clearer look at his face. His lips were pressed together in a tight line, his eyes sharp determined. I found myself thinking that in another life, I might have even thought he was handsome.

"O-kay." I said slowly, resisting the urge to walk away. I folded my arms over my chest, releasing a tired sigh. "But I'm warning you, I'm not exactly in the right state of mind to he-"

"I want to ask Quinn to Prom." I gaped at him, and he began to ramble nervously. "I mean, I dunno, what do you think? It's so fucking weird and I…"

It surprised me, how seven harmless little words could rush through me and remind me so keenly of something I no longer had. In the span of a few seconds memories flashed through my mind in rapid succession: Rumours, Fondue for Two, _Songbird_. I felt my eyes swarm with tears at all the lost chances, all the time I wasted. All the moments lost like tears in the ocean.

Then I raised my eyes at Puck. He looked legitimately freaked out, like he was afraid I was going to start crying. "Do it." I interrupted him in a voice thick with emotion, raising a finger and jabbing it into his chest roughly. "Ask her, and make sure she feels special when you do. Ask her, and give the damn moon if she wants it." A single tear fell off my eyelashes and into the shiny hallway. "Ask her and don't fucking screw up, because even if Fabray is all tough and mighty on the outside she's scared and lonely deep down where it matters."

"Just like you are?" He muttered softly, dropping his gaze to his filthy sneakers. I inhaled sharply, the air slicing like an axe in my lungs.

"Yeah," I said in a tiny voice. I looked the other side of the hall, where her locker was. "Just like I am."

_If Brittany doesn't go to Prom, she still loves me._

/

'_Do you want to talk about it?'_

The words were written in Quinn's perfect script, each loop and curve executed flawlessly on the tiny piece of paper. I looked at her from the corner of my eye, watching me with a worried expression. looking at her reminded me of Puck, asking me for help. Puck, asshole extraordinaire, wanted to ask Quinn Fabray to Prom.

Then I shook my head, quietly slipping back the paper into her desk. She took it quickly, scribbling something under her question.

'_You look like you've been crying.'_

I sighed slightly, turning my head away to the front of class. Our history teacher was sitting on the desk, hunched over a book, reading intently. The rest of the class was occupied with answering the test questionnaires he had handed out not more than ten minutes ago. I had taken one look at mine, written my name in the upper left corner, and left it completely blank.

'_You should answer your paper, Santana. I'm sure you know some of the answers if you tried.'_

I rolled my eyes at her, finally writing, _'I don't care enough to try.'_

She looked at me disapprovingly, shaking her head. She looked towards the front of class, pointing. Frowning, I followed her line of vision, my breath hitching when I saw who she was pointing at.

Brittany sat in the very front of class, bent over her paper in utmost concentration. But her hands were hanging limply on her sides, her pencil almost falling out of her grasp. I felt my heart drop like a stone in free fall motion when I realized that she wasn't answering, either.

In a quick instant the crushing sadness racing in my veins transformed to overwhelming anger. RuPaul was supposed to tutor her for this test. If Rachel-fucking-Berry hadn't decided to give up, Brittany might have known the answers to at least some of the questions.

There was a light tapping on my shoulder, and I turned to Quinn, her face serious. "You shouldn't take advantage of the fact that you can do well in class, Santana." She told me everything in a slow whisper. At first all I could register was the fact that she was talking a bit more like the Quinn Fabray I knew before summer happened. Then her words sunk in, and I looked at her in surprise. "That would be an insult to the people who aren't as good – academically speaking – as you are."

_Well, shit._ I felt something like shame pouring over me, breaking over my head and trickling down my temples. Feeling incredibly small, I reached for my paper and picked up my pencil, reading through the instructions.

When I finished answering everything I could the exam, I still had around twenty minutes left before the designated time ended. Breathing deeply through my nose, I leaned back against my chair, my eyes drifting involuntarily to Brittany. Her head buried in her arms, slouched so lowly on the desk. Even from far behind, I could feel her dejection like it was a gas in the air, cutting of my oxygen supply.

Then a student stood up, blocking my view of her. I felt annoyance spark in my instantaneously, my eyes narrowing into tiny slits. I watched as said student walked up to teacher's desk, before dumping his paper into the tray there and walking out of the room.

The teacher didn't even bother to look up.

Then another student stood up, and dropped his paper on the same tray. Again, the teacher didn't react at all. _Christ,_ I thought to myself. _This guy could have the whole class swapping answers and not even realize_–

Something clicked in my head then, something I had never, ever considered before. I felt my jaw drop with the shock of the thought, my eyes widening on their own accord. I stared at the tray for a longer moment, watching as students continued to submit their test papers there. _Don't do it, _I told myself furiously._ It's fucking insane, not to mention over-the-top and completely and utterly stupid._ But the idea had latched itself into my system, and whether I liked it or not, it was something I just could not fight off.

Gritting my teeth, I checked the clock. Ten minutes. _Fuck me._ I took my pencil and erased my name from the top of the first page. _This is stupid, and idiotic, and so, so wrong._ _Fuck me._

I was halfway through re-writing all my answers in a penmanship that was not mine when Quinn stood up and left. By that point, there were only a handful of us left in the classroom, Brittany included. When I looked back at the teacher's desk, I realized he had fallen asleep with sheer boredom. I looked back at the paper and hurried on, hoping I could finish before the bell rang.

When Brittany finally stood up, we were the only two left in the classroom. She walked slowly towards the desk, laying her paper on the top of the stack. She was so sad she didn't even notice I was still there. I watched her as she trudged out of the room, head down, shoulders slumped.

Then I raced to the front, knowing I had seconds left to spare. When I stood in front of the desk, I stared at her paper for the longest moment. _Don't do it._

_If I do this, _I reasoned in my head, _I still love her._


	15. The Quitter In Me

First, isn't it funny that we get all the action in Episode 4s? Last season we saw them on the bed in _Duets_, this season we're going to see them officially together in _Pot O'Gold_.

Second,** THANK YOU**, sincerely, for all your reviews. Positive feedback always gets me going.

We are gradually approaching the end of this tale…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: The Quitter In Me<strong>

"Santana." There was a long pause. "What the hell are you doing?"

The voice seemed very, very far away, like the person talking to me was shouting from the bottom of a deep, dark abyss.

"Santana? Can you hear me?" The voice – a female's, I realized – was getting clearer now, accompanied by rustling, like leaves dancing to the mighty wind. "How long has she been like this?"

_Quinn,_ I thought in my head, wishing the words in my head would transform into words from my mouth._ Please leave me alone._

"Around three hours." Karofsky. I almost wanted to laugh; of course he would have followed me in my frantic escape. "She left History in a mess."

I heard someone sigh. Then I felt two hands wrap around my torso, applying the gentlest of pressure. "Come on, Santana, let's get you out of here."

Keeping my eyes shut, I resisted all forms of movement by curling into myself tightly. "No." I heard my hoarse voice, wincing at the feeble sound. The papers I was clutched tightly in my hands crumpled.

"I can carry her if you want me to." Karofsky offered in a low voice.

"No, I don't think…" Quinn trailed off. She sighed again. "Santana, come on. Please at least tell me what's wrong."

I remained silent, weighing my options. When I finally opened my mouth, however, something else came out.

"He loves you."

I heard a sharp intake of air, and I finally managed to pry my eyes open. Light flooded in, blinding my temporarily while I blinked. Then Quinn's face came into focus, bent over me with a shocked expression. Behind her, Karofsky stood, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Wh-what?"

I closed my eyes again, turning a cheek to the ground. "He loves you." I murmured, trying to vanish into my own mind. Like Ofelia from _Pan's Labyrinth_, even if that movie always made Brittany cry. Or maybe Baby Doll from _Sucker Punch_, escaping into her imagination whenever she couldn't handle the real world.

But how could I, really? The one with a bigger imagination, the one with an open mind, the one with a greater heart – that was always Brittany.

"He loves you, I think, almost as much as I love her." My voice was incredibly soft now, like the breeze passing through the grass.

"Santana." It was almost like a plea. A plea for me to stop, to shut up, because talking about feelings made us both _feel_ – and we just weren't the type of people who willingly did that sort of thing in front of other people.

I turned back and opened my eyes, this time seeking out Karofsky. His face was silent, cool, but his eyes were pained. He wasn't really that different from us, was he? He had _so many feelings_, too… and he didn't know how to deal with any of them, either.

That's how I knew I could trust him.

I shifted my eyes back to Quinn. I could still see the panic lingering in her eyes, the fear of having to confront her own emotions. I knew that after everything she'd been through – Finn, pregnancy, Sam, her parents, Beth – she'd constructed as many walls as she could around herself, trying to steel her heart against any more heartbreak.

But I _needed_ her to tear those walls down. I needed her to be brave. I needed her to find her own version of happy ever after, no matter how difficult or fucked up it might honestly turn out to be.

I just needed her to have all the things – all the fucking things – I didn't allow myself to have.

"He loves you, Quinn." I repeated in a stronger voice, trying to smile. "Puck loves you – and I know you love him, too."

She shook her head, blinking rapidly. "Are you kidding me?" She rasped, trying to fake a laugh. "This is Puck you're talking about."

"Stop lying to yourself." I whispered. "I know, alright? I know what it feels like to be scared. I know how shitty it is to feel vulnerable to other people." I choked, the words getting lodged in my throat. But these were was Quinn and Karofsky, and they needed to hear what I was about to say. Forcing my throat to cooperate with me, I murmured, "But more than anything, I know what it feels to _regret_."

A sob escaped from Quinn's throat, but she continued to shake her head in denial.

"You wanna know why I love her so much?" I whispered, looking over at Karofsky. A jolt of shock flashed down my spine when I realized he was crying. Huge fucking tears were running down Dave Karofsky's cheeks.

"Everyone says she's stupid and dumb, but she isn't. She isn't childish or immature, either, she's just…" I swallowed, my own tears forming like lumps in my eyes, lumps I couldn't resist. "She's just so incorruptible, you know?" I released a painful, hollow laugh that revealed all too well the emptiness inside. "She chooses to see the world from this childlike, innocent point of view, and she won't let anything ruin that." I turned my head to look up at the different shades of blue painting the canvass that was the sky.

"And I love her so much because that bursting sunshine I can see in her is something I've lost. Fuck, it's something I probably never even had in the first place."

I turned back to Quinn. Gingerly, I lifted myself off the ground, careful to keep the paper tight in my grip. I looked her straight in the eye. "Remember New York?" She nodded miserably. "You told us that you just wanted someone to love you. Remember?" Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Well, someone does, right now, right here. Someone loves you for all that you are." My throat began to close rebelliously on me, but I fought against it as vigorously as I could. "Don't let that go, Quinn. You can be happy. Really, truly happy. _You deserve to be happy._"

She swallowed for several long moments. "What about you?" She asked weakly.

I smiled sadly. "I lost my chance." Her head dropped, and her tears dropped down to the ground beneath her.

I looked up at Karofsky, whose entire face was turned away from us. I saw the paths of liquid on his face, the shaking of his entire body. "Same goes for you, Dave." His face snapped to me, his eyes tiny and red. "I know that it feels like secrets are easy to keep–" My voice faltered, "–but believe me when I say you don't want to be left at the end of the day with nothing, _nothing_, but your secrets to keep you warm at night."

He let out a shaky breath. For a while the three of us remained still like statues, bonded together with a cord of shared fears and vulnerabilities. Then Quinn lifted her face to me, and said in a voice that was a weak attempt at humor, "Since when did you become Yoda, oh wise one?"

I let out a tiny laugh that sounded unreal to my own ears. I tightened my grip on Brittany's test paper in my hands, clutching it like a lifeline. "Ever since I realized how far I'd be willing to go for the only person I've ever truly loved."

/

"You do know that if the administration finds out you're going to be kicked out, right?"

Quinn was standing with her back to the bedroom door when I told her what I'd done with Brittany's history test, almost a week later. I was perched on the edge of the mattress, my head in my hands.

"I know." I whispered. A frustrated sigh blew through the room.

"Fuck, Santana Lopez." Quinn practically growled. "Do you have any idea – _any idea_ – what kind of trouble you're going to be in?"

"They're not going to find out." I mumbled, straightening my posture and stretching my aching body.

"You don't know that!" Quinn snapped, slapping her hand to the wood behind her. I jumped, startled at her sudden outburst.

"Quinn." I said tiredly, crawling to my side of the bed. "Drop it, okay? It's done."

I heard her groan in exasperation. "Does she at least know?"

My body stiffened. I turned to glare at Quinn. Her entire body was pushed off the wall, her arms crossed. "She doesn't, and she never will, got it?" I said coolly. Her response - a challenging stare - made me sit up again. "Quinn Fabray." I said in a rough voice. "Don't you ever fucking dare tell her."

She stared at me, her frown gradually fading into a look of quiet agony. She leant back on the wall, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "Fine." She turned and headed for the bathroom.

Much later, when I was caught in the vacuum between consciousness and unconsciousness, I heard Quinn whisper into my ears, "You do know that you're wrong, right?"

I felt myself tense. I wanted to open my eyes and turn to her with my best bitch face. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to hit her across her face so hard it would make her bruise in the morning.

"It's funny, actually, how screwed this whole situation is." She continued. "You think you're the one who doesn't deserve her. But if you think about it…" She sighed deeply, "…to be able to walk away like you did, to be able to push her away because you think it's for her best…doesn't that only prove how worthy you really are?"

I ignored the way her words formed hollow pits in my heart. I buried my face deeper into my pillow, trying my best not to cry.

/

"She said yes."

I smiled in spite of myself. I was sitting in the back of Biology, Puck beside me with a dopey smile on his face.

"Did you hear me, Lopez? I don't even have to go through all that stupid Prom King shit from last year." He chuckled. "She fucking said yes!"

I looked at him, looking straight into the man I knew Quinn could see in him. "Of course she did." I said nonchalantly, shrugging. I heard him huff in annoyance at my pretentious indifference.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "Don't screw it up, Puckerman."

His grin slipped off his face momentarily and he nodded solemnly. "Never."

/

Prom night found me lying back on the roof of Quinn's roof, staring up at the endless sky. Sometimes it was still impossible to comprehend that the sky just kept going on and on, never ending, _forever_. How could things still exist until forever? How could things like the sky still expand infinitely when something like happiness lasted so very briefly?

My phone exploded in my pocket.

Cursing slightly, I pulled out the offensive object.

"What?" I almost yelled.

"Minor emergency." I heard Quinn pant into the phone, something like desperation in her voice. I immediately straightened, preparing to move back into the room. I rushed through the window, slipping accidentally.

"Fuck, ouch." I mumbled, before adjusting the phone. "What's wrong?" I asked urgently.

"Fucking Finn tripped on my dress."

I laughed, I couldn't help it. "Are you serious?"

"YES! He tripped on my dress. The zipper broke so now I'm standing here in the stupid comfort room. _Fuck._ I just…I need safety pins. Tons of them."

"Got it." I rushed to her drawer and wrenched open the drawer that contained safety pins. I threw open the door and ran down the stairs. "On my way."

/

"Hold the elevator." I yelled, rushing through the hotel lobby, Quinn's safety pins tucked safely into my pocket. I squeezed through just as the doors began to close, gasping out a breathy, "Thanks." I glanced at my singular companion dismissively, before I realized who it was. It felt like my heart literally froze in my chest, the blood drying up in my blood vessels.

"Hi." She said in a small voice. She was looking at me curiously, her shimmering blue eyes moving up and down my frame. I realized with a jolt how haggard I must look: my hair messed, my body clad in a black tank top and faded jeans, the dirty sneakers on my feet.

"I-I...Hi." I said, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. Was it just me, or were the walls slowly closing in on us? I tried not to look at her outfit, knowing that if I did it would shatter me to see her perfection. I swallowed nervously. The damn elevator was moving in fucking record slowness. The prom was on the rooftop, and we were about ten floors away.

"You aren't dressed up." She pointed out eventually.

I felt everything from my lungs to my mouth dry up. "I…I wasn't supposed to come."

She frowned slightly, clearly surprised. "Oh. Well, you look nice anyway."

I swallowed, trying to moisten my mouth again. "Thanks, B…Brittany." I felt myself flushing. "You look better." She gave me a tentative smile then, the kind that clearly expressed discomfort. Her eyes shifted to the doors of the elevator, and I did the same.

A floor away from our destination, a question began to burrow into my mind. I didn't want to ask it, but I simply couldn't help myself. I turned back at her, careful to look only into her face. "So… do you have a date?"

Her eyes burned into mine, and I knew she could hear the real question behind my words: did you bring someone other than me?

She smiled sadly. "I'm with Rory." It was lighter than a whisper, but I heard it anyway. My heart imploded in my chest, sucking inwards like a blackhole. I felt my eyes close in defeat.

"Oh." It was the only thing I could say past the giant lump in my throat, the one that was filled with sobs I knew I wouldn't be able to fight when faced with the pillow tonight.

The elevator opened, and for a quick moment we both froze, waiting for the other to go ahead. Then I took a step back and motioned with my arm.

"Please, go ahead."

She looked at me then, her eyes flashing in her face. "Okay."

Just as she made the final step out the elevator, with me a few steps behind, I blurted out, "Brittany, you look amazing."

Her bright smile was blinding. "Thank you, San."

I tried not to fall apart when she walked into the roof deck, Rory waiting for her nearby. He offered his arm to her, beaming proudly.

_That_, I thought miserably to myself, pushing myself through the crowd in search for the comfort room, _was supposed to be me._

/

"You looked like you saw the ghost of Abraham Lincoln and Marie Curie making out on the dance floor." Quinn commented when she finished fixing her gorgeous black dress, running her hands down the fabric to smoothen it out. When she was satisfied with her outfit, she began to re-apply her make-up. It struck me that most her hair was gradually turning yellow again.

I blinked and shook my head, leaning against the sink. "No, I just…" I sighed inwardly, shutting my eyes. Every time I did, I could see her smile shining at me. "I saw Brittany."

Quinn's movements stilled, and her gaze moved to me in the mirror, staring at my reflection. "Are you alright?" She asked intensely, her eyes never wavering.

I shrugged. "I mean…yeah, you know, she…I-I…" I shrugged again, closing my eyes, the image burned into my retinas. When I opened them again, Quinn was looking at me with a worried expression. "She's with Rory."

I heard the _swish _of Quinn's dress as she moved to me and enveloped me in a tight hug. I pried her off as gently as I could. "I'm fine." I said numbly, trying to act like it. The doubt on her face told me I was a horrible actress, so I tried another approach. "Puck's waiting for you."

Her face changed then, glowed in a way that made me want to laugh and cry. "Go." I instructed, pushing her slightly, smiling as sincerely as I could. "Go."

She smiled at me warmly in gratitude. Then she walked out the room, leaving me alone in the silence.

I looked back at my reflection in the mirror, staring deeply into my own eyes until I no longer saw any trace of tears. Only then did I straighten my spine, take a deep breath, and walk out the door.

It was considerably darker. There was a loud, jumpy song playing over the speakers, the beat rapid and heavy. Bodies were moving rhythmically on the dance floor, arms flailing everywhere. Some people would call it dancing, but it honestly looked like one big clothed orgy to me. I scanned the crowd, locating members of the New Directions scattered everywhere, with their respective partners. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find Brittany. It made my heart heavy to consider the many other places she could possibly be. With Rory.

I turned around and began to head towards the elevator, just as the song ended, and the opening notes of Coldplay's _Paradise_ began to play over the speakers.

"Are you leaving already?"

My feet stop in their tracks, my entire body seizing with the sound of her voice. It sounded out of breath, and slightly flustered. It sounded like torture and redemption, pain and freedom. I turned around slowly to face her.

"Yeah, I …" I fought to maintain a neutral expression, keeping my eyes locked on the area behind her head. "I just had to drop off something for Quinn."

"Oh." In my peripheral vision, I could see her standing still, her hands at her sides, staring at the floor. Then she looked up at me, the resolve shining like playful lights in her eyes. It was like a magnet; I looked straight at her. "I really like this song."

I felt myself swallowing in my painfully dry throat. "Yeah. It's pretty good."

"_When she was just a girl, she expected the world. But it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep, and dreamed of para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, every time she closed her eyes._"

I began to back away slowly, moving closer to the elevator, moving farther into the darkness.

"San–" She blurted out, reaching forward.

I turned back around to face her wordlessly. She stepped closer to me, a thin ray of light falling across her body.

"_When she was just a girl, she expected the world. But it flew away from her reach, and the bullets catch in her teeth. Life goes on, it gets so heavy. The wheel breaks the butterfly. Every tear a waterfall. In the night, the stormy night, she closed her eyes. In the night, the stormy night, away she flies._"

I saw her then, in all her glorious beauty. Brittany never had the superficial beauty that magazines endorsed, or that modeling companies sought after, she had the real deal: the kind of beauty that made your insides melt into a puddle, the kind that would be ideal to wake up to every single morning. She had the kind of beauty that was authentic, unique in every sense of the word.

"_And dreams of para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise. She dreams of para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise._"

And she was even more beautiful now.

I trailed my eyes over her entire frame, taking in the breathtaking sight. Her gorgeous sky blue dress clung in all the right places, emphasizing her beautiful physique, her superbly toned body. Her blonde hair tumbled around her in gentle curves, emphasizing the curve of her cheekbones.

She took a step forward, closing the gap between us, her eyes captivating. "San." Her voice had a new confident edge to it. It was low, husky, a feather brushing down my spine, bringing me alive in ways I'd forgotten I could exist.

"Yeah?" I whispered, not trusting my voice.

Without hesitation, she slowly raised her arm, extending her hand in my direction.

"Dance with me." She was barely a foot away and I could smell her intoxicating perfume, clouding my senses and blocking my judgment. "Dance with me," she repeated, taking my hand into hers. "For old times' sake."

I tried not to let it sting. I tried not to think about the ocean of those four words, the implications of my being part of something in her past. But almost as though she could tell she had put me in pain, she ran her free hand over my arm reassuringly. It could feel all my goose bumps rising in the wake of her warm flesh.

She pulled my towards her like gravity pulling leaves down to the earth, or a flame drawing in a moth. It was irresistible, and despite the pain curdling in my chest, I gave in under the weight of her pleading stare.

"_Lalalalalalalalalalala…_"

She began to twirl me effortlessly around the room, practically supporting all my weight with her own body. I could feel people staring at us, but at that specific moment in time nothing else seemed to matter, except the feeling of her warm hands on my waist, keeping me close to her.

She bent her head until I could feel her moist breath in my ear. It sent a shudder rippling through my body. Then she sang along with the final verse of the song, pulling my closer to her until I could feel her heartbeat through the layers of fabric between us, beating in time to mine.

"_So lying underneath the stormy sky, she says ooohh, _I know the sun was set to rise._ This could be para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise. Ooohhh, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise._"

I felt the tears in my eyes, the ache in my chest, and I pressed my face into her shoulder, trying to bury myself in everything especially Brittany: the look in her eyes, the feel of her body, the smell of her skin, the taste of her sweat, the sound of her singing in my ears.

"_This could be para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise. This could be para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise._"

When the song ended, it felt all too soon. She took my arms and gently pulled herself away from my body, the look on her face difficult to interpret.

"Britt-" I heard myself whisper hoarsely, trying to pull her back into the space she vacated, trying to fit her back into the perfection that we were.

"That was the last dance." She said in a hollow voice I didn't recognize. When I failed to react, she rephrased slowly, "That was the last dance for senior prom." She paused, pain flashing in her face at my shocked expression. "Don't you remember? We promised in freshman year. The last dance, we said, we–"

"–would save for each other." I finished, heat creeping into my cheeks. I couldn't believe she remembered. I couldn't believe she still wanted to fulfill that promise, regardless of all the pain I'd put her through. "Not for parents," I recited, "Not for teachers. Not for boys…"

"For each other." She finished, a small, shy smile growing on her face. Then her expression faded and she admitted in a soft voice, "I was worried that you weren't going to come."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. After all, wrapped in my selfish misery, I had forgotten about that promise. I felt shame pouring over me in waves.

Then a loud bang exploded in the sky, and everyone looked up in time to see green shoot in a circular orientation.

"Look, San. Fireworks." She said unnecessarily. I felt a smile spread over my lips. For a moment we watched in quiet awe at the bursts and spins of bright colors in the sky, lighting up the world in beautiful combinations.

I wanted so badly to hold her hand, but I knew that it would be out of bounds. The fireworks were beautiful, but some painful part of me was reminded strongly of New Year's Eve, and the agony I'd caused us both. It kept me at bay from doing anything that might even cause us even more pain.

But that resolve burst into flames when a particularly high-reaching firework exploded, the remnants falling down on us like tiny, golden shooting stars.

"Make a wish." I heard myself murmuring to her before I could stop myself. We turned to each other at the same moment, and I found myself staring deeply into the eyes I dreamt of every night in my sleep.

Her lips curved into a half smile, before she moved closer to me. Then before I could blink, her lips were on mine, locking into position like puzzle pieces falling into place. Warm and soft, I found myself torn between the realms of familiar and strange. The fireworks in the sky moved transformed inside my head, until I could see amazing bursts of color colliding behind my eyelids that no artificial lighting could imitate. The bright colors were warm and fuzzy, expelling all the doubts in my head. I felt like Sectionals all over again.

When we separated, the fireworks were still exploding on in the sky. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, smudging make-up as they went.

"Brittany, I..." She stared at me expectantly. But the damn words were lodged in my throat. Even if I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs, they simply would not come out.

Her face fell ever so slightly, and her eyes clouded over. "Well, I guess that's all there is." She began to extract herself from me.

"No, Britt, I-I…"

She shook her head, backing away, even as more tears fell from her eyes. When she was almost a foot away, she said in a breaking voice, "That's all there is, San." She let out a shuddering breath. "Now I can finally let you go."


	16. I'll Take You Back I

Sorry it's late.

I'm not sure if any of you noticed, but the entire story lacks one crucial aspect of senior year: the SATs. I wanted to include it but I had absolutely no clue how to (I'm not American). So, sorry about that.

This wasn't supposed to be cut in two, but I decided to extend this story a little bit more.

Oh, and guys? Trust me. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten [Part One]: I'll Take You Back<strong>

I walked into McKinley high alone, the sound of my footsteps drowning in the noise generated by the student-packed hallways. I glanced beside me absent-mindedly, vainly hoping to see a flash of blonde-pink walking along beside me. Or even a black baby mohawk.

But of course, neither Quinn nor Puck was there. They were in Chicago.

/

"_Are you going to be fine?"_

_The travelling bags were open by the edge of the bed. Dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a pristine white blouse, Quinn pulled the cover over and zipped it closed._

"_Santana?" She looked up at me, her voice hesitant and worried. It pretty much sounded like that all the damn time, since Prom. We stared at each other for a long moment._

"_Have fun okay?" My voice was weak with disuse._

_She took long steps towards me, taking me into her arms and holding on tightly. "Maybe you should come."_

_I shook my head, my arms wounding around her and squeezing briefly, before pulling away. I didn't want to be touched. "Nah. I don't know any of the songs, and I know I won't be able to pick up on choreography." My throat tightened, as silent videos of Brittany dancing began to play inside my head. "And it'll be best for everyone involved if I didn't show up."_

_Quinn's expression shifted with unfiltered doubt. "Are you sure? I mean… we're going to be gone for three days."_

_I know. I nodded, tracing inexistent shapes in the surface of the bedroom wall. "What time are you leaving?"_

_I could feel her eyes on me, and it was unnerving. "Uhm…" She checked her phone. "Around two hours, I think. Puck's going to pick me up."_

"'_Kay." I said softly, nodding again. She and Puck had progressed considerably after Prom Night. It was probably the only good thing that had come out of that night, almost two weeks ago. _

_I felt my eyes well up with tears as the memories attacked me. Turning away, I blinked them away furiously._

"_Oh, Santana." I heard Quinn whisper sadly._

"_I'm fine." My breaking voice said otherwise. She stepped closer to hug me again, but I waved her hands off. "No, no. Really. It's okay." _

"_Santana–"_

_She was cut off by the ringing of her phone. Glancing down at the caller ID, an apologetic look crossed her face. "Go ahead," I encouraged her, attempting to smile. "I know that's Puck."_

"_I'm sorry." She began, waving her hand off. "I can call him back later, really, I ca–"_

"_Quinn." My voice firm, I laid my hands on her shoulders. "I'm okay. Really. You should take this call. It's from your boyfriend." I snorted. "God, I can't believe Puck is your fucking boyfriend."_

_She rolled her eyes, muttering. "Well, I can't believe it either." She accepted the call and turned around, her voice softening with, "Hey, Puck…"_

_I turned around. I tuned out the sound of Quinn's voice, light and happy, and focused instead on insignificant droning of a lawnmower somewhere in the neighborhood._

/

First day without Quinn and Puck by my side, and school already felt different. Empty. It even felt slightly hostile.

"Santana?" Karofsky appeared at my elbow, careful to keep distance. Against my better judgment, I felt a flood of reassurance rush through me.

I inhaled deeply, just as the bell rang. "What?"

"You're here." His feet shuffled for a moment, while students rushed around us. I said nothing, watching him. "I…I kind of figured you wouldn't be around, since, you know, the club isn't around."

I sighed. "Yeah, well. Maybe it's easier for me to be around when she isn't."

Karofsky frowned. "You never did mention what happened in Prom."

"And I never will." I said coolly. I headed to the direction of my first class, Karofsky not far behind me. Just as I was about to take the turn into the room, I felt his hand on my arm, holding me back.

"Santana?"

I turned to him, eyebrow raised.

There was a pause when Karofsky glanced around us nervously. "I'm thinking about telling my dad."

I felt my eyebrow slip back down. Distantly, I could hear the voice of our teacher as she began her lecture, but all I could see was the look of desperation clouding his eyes. I sighed inwardly as I stepped away from the classroom, gesturing for Karofsky to follow me as I lead the way to the football field.

"Talk." I said shortly when we reached the bleachers, hurling my bag into the empty space beside me. I stretched myself out languidly, keeping my eyes low to avoid the burning glare of the sun above us. I heard him sigh deeply. He was standing a few feet away from me, hesitating pouring out of him in waves. "Dave." I called warningly, his name sounding foreign on my voice. "Come on. We don't have all day. _Talk._"

"I don't know what to say." He muttered, dropping to the space behind me.

I fought off the annoyance from my voice. I knew that it was a million times easier for me because I had Brittany to help me through accepting myself, long before I had even come out of the closet. But Karofsky? He didn't really have anyone. Keeping a calm tone, I asked, "Why now?"

There was a long pause that was broken only by the faraway sounds of honking cars and blowing whistles. I turned to look at him. He was staring into the landscape, his eyes focused on a tiny point far, far away. "Senior year's almost ending." He said in a gruff voice, still looking far away.

"True dat." I waited patiently for him to continue, watching him as he clenched his jaw.

When he finally turned to look at me, I felt like his eyes were burning holes into my being. "I don't want to leave without…without…" He swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly, "without being brave."

I nodded slowly, trying to process his words without reading too much into my own situation. "Okay." I said, swinging my legs so my entire body was angled towards him. "I get that."

He gulped again, taking in deep breaths through his mouth. "I'm so fucking scared." His voice was so tiny, coming out in little gasps of air. I leaned towards him and, without hesitation, cupped the back of one of his hands with my palm.

"I know." I said gently. I wanted to say something else. I wanted to say something more. I wanted to tell him that everything was going to be alright, but who was I to talk? My life was a fucking shit hole. I wasn't living with my parents, I was surviving off Quinn's extras, I had come out in the dreariest fashion ever – with the most awful consequences on the planet – and I had broken the heart of the love of my life.

"Do you ever get over it?" His voice was still small and soft, slightly unnerving coming from someone his size. "You know, the fear?"

_Yes,_ I was tempted to declare. "No." I admitted, dropping my gaze and pulling back my hand. I looked across the large field at the different students lingering there. Briefly I wondered what kind of life each one of them carried, what emotional baggage each one of them carried.

"That sucks." His face crumpled, this eyebrows scrunching up together as he tried not to cry.

"It does." I murmured quietly, catching a glimpse of a few cheerleaders practicing across the field. I remembered what it felt like, to hide behind the Cheerios brand, keeping up the façade of HBIC to maintain my reputation. I remembered all the people I'd hurt along the way, all the lives I'd manipulated just to get what I thought I wanted.

I looked back at Karofsky, who was wearing his varsity jacket today instead of the red shiny Bully Whips one. I realized then that he was just like me, the way I was back then.

"You never get over the fear of being different." I heard myself saying in a steady voice. I leaned over so I could grasp his hand in mine. "But you know something? Fuck the fear. When you think about it, it's just awesome. You know. To be yourself."

A thin tear travelled the length of his cheek, coming down his jaw and taking the curved path down his neck. Then a small smile formed on his lips, the most genuine one I'd ever seen from him yet. I felt myself smiling back before I could help myself.

I felt something then. A spark in my chest, a single burst of long-forgotten hope, blossoming deep inside me like flowers in the spring.

/

Three days came and went faster than I'd anticipated.

Karofsky was waiting for me in the entrance of the school on the last day. He sent me a smile when I walked up to his side, and wordlessly we began to make our way to my first period.

"Santana Lopez!" My path was blocked by a wild bush of hair as Jacob Ben Israel poked a microphone into my face, his bubble-gum-chewing cameraman not far behind him. "Rumor has it you're back to dating Dave Karofsky. Any comments?" I barely had time to reply before he added sneakily, "So is it true then that a lesbian just needs the right man to turn her pole straight?"

"Hey." Karofsky took a warning step towards Jacob, his hands packed into tight fists. The smaller boy took a step backwards, visibly cowering. I grabbed the back of Dave's hoodie, anchoring him to the spot.

"Don't." I said from between tight lips, tightening my grip. He turned to look at me, and I saw the fury roaring in his eyes. "Not worth it." I emphasized each word distinctly, trying to rein him in. people began to crowd around us, watching the events unfold excitedly. When he, Jacob piped up,

"What about you, Karofsky? Rumor has it you're stuck in your own little version of Narnia. Care to comment about living behind the world of your closet?"

I felt the blood drain out of my face. Karofsky had made so much progress in the past three days. He opened up about his family, and talked honestly about all of his fears. It would literally kill me to see all that hard work – both on his part and mine – go up into flames.

Then Dave sagged just a little, exhaling, "It's true." My heart stilled. I saw Jacob's jaw drop, his eyebrows shooting up into his ridiculous hairline. I turned my face towards Karofsky, my eyes wide with shock. He turned to look at me, surprise in his own eyes at his bold confirmation.

Jacob tried to say something, but all that came out was a gasp. He began to back away on his own accord, dragging his cameraman behind him. Other students around us began to move away, too, whispers and murmurs rushing through them like waves.

"I'm gay." Dave choked when the hallway cleared.

I nodded, swallowing past the painful lump in my throat. "I know."

He shook his head, strangled sounds catching in his throat. "I'm gay." He repeated, his voice weakening, his head dropping as he fought back tears.

I realized it then. This moment was, without a single doubt, the first time he had ever actually said the words out loud. I laid a hand over his broad shoulder and squeezed as tightly as I could manage. "So am I."

He shook his head again, sniffing. "I…I…"

I racked my brains, trying to figure out what I could possibly say. Was there _anything_ I could even say? "Dave…" I murmured, closing my eyes as I tried to think back. What was the one thing that I would have wanted people to say? If I could have had my father say something else, what would it be? If there was one thing I wanted to hear so bad from my mother, what was it? I opened my eyes when I realized what it was, the two words that would have made all the difference. "It's okay." A voice, one that sounded much stronger than I felt, said.

His head shot up to look at me, his eyes glistening.

"It's okay." I repeated, looking into his eyes. "It's okay."

When he gave me a watery smile, I took his hand, leading him to the one place where I knew being authentic wasn't a crime.

/

The choir room was slightly dusty when we entered it, a testament to the absence of its occupants. Too tired to make it to the chairs, we plopped ourselves on the ground, propping ourselves against the wall.

"Do you miss it?" His voice was still raw. He pulled the sleeve of his jacket and wiped the moisture from his cheeks, inhaling shakily. When I said nothing in reply, he glanced at me.

I nodded absently, looking around the room wistfully. "Almost as much as I miss her."

We fell into a silence then, and I listened to the sound of his breathing as it became even again.

"You know…" He trailed off, and I turned to look at him, silently encouraging him to continue. I realized then that the past three days may have qualified us into something like friends. The revelation made me want to laugh and cry at how much I'd changed.

"Yeah?" I finally asked when he left his opening lingering in the air.

He let out a dry chuckle. "Truth is, I like to sing." He admitted, turning to look at me.

"No way." I said disbelievingly, raising an eyebrow. "No fucking way."

"True." He insisted. "Bet I could kick Hudson's ass, too."

I smirked. "Prove it."

"What, here?" He shook his head. "Nah, no thanks."

"Chicken." I teased, poking him lightly on his arm. When he did nothing but laugh, I poked him harder. "Seriously, man. You owe me."

He turned to me then, his eyes smiling at me. "I do." He inhaled deeply. "And because I owe you, I'm going to do this." I expected him to burst into cheesy song. But to my surprise, he said instead, "You can still fix things." He paused. "You can still fix things. With Brittany."

I blinked. Before either of us could say anything, though, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket, and we both jumped in surprise. He exhaled noisily while I answered it.

"Yeah?"

Quinn's breathing filled my ear canal. "We won. Santana, we won."

/

The celebration party was in Rachel's basement, and it started the moment they arrived back from Chicago.

I didn't expect to get invited, but Rachel's excited voice squealed on the phone, "Santana, you must, _must_come. Your invaluable contributions – particularly for our Sectionals and Regionals – have not been forgotten. You are still a part of the Glee Club family, even on the times when you don't realize it."

At that point, Quinn had wrenched the phone away from her. "Lopez, I want you here in ten minutes. Not a minute later. No excuses." She cut the call abruptly, giving me no choice but to scramble for the closest presentable clothes.

In record time I found myself parking into the last available space in Rachel's block. But when I cut the engine I found myself filled with dread, gnawing on me like a zombie chomping on human flash.

A knock on the window shot me straight out of my seat and out of my worries. My mind blanked when I found myself looking straight into Quinn's face.

"Q." I blurted out as I threw the door open, Quinn jumping away just in time before the door hit her. "Oh, shit," I muttered as I shut the door behind me. Then I threw myself into her arms, holding on for dear life. "Q." I almost sobbed, holding her tightly against me. "Oh, God. I missed you so much."

She held me as tightly as I held her, rubbing soothing circles on my back. "I missed you too." She said reassuringly, his voice soft. When she pulled back, I saw her wipe her tears away with her fingers. "So." A mischievous glint began to sparkle in her eyes. "Ready to party?"

* * *

><p>Hey, guess who's turning 18 tomorrow? :)<p> 


	17. I'll Take You Back II

_Thank you, thank you for all your greetings. :D_

A bit shorter than normal, sorry about that.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten [Part Two]: I'll Take You Back<strong>

Quinn steered me into the house, describing Nationals in great detail.

"And when we made it to the top ten? It was amazing." She gushed, smiling at me. "I mean, damn. Remember how bad we felt last year?" She paused, while I nodded along, thinking to myself - _well,__ last __year__'__s __disappointment __can__'__t __even __compare __to __how __sucky __I __feel __right __now __for __missing __Nationals_. "We were all just ecstatic. And, damn. When we did our final performance, comprised of two new original songs and a rendition of Owl City's _Fireflies_, everyone was just so pumped. We felt so good, it didn't really seem to matter if we were going to win or not."

"But you did." I smiled, nudging her. "Hey, congratulations."

She beamed. "Yup, we won."

"You sure did." I agreed, just as we were walking down the stairs to her basement. I could already hear the loud beat of music, calling out to me like a siren's call. But before I could go any lower, Quinn grabbed my arm and shook her head.

"No, Santana." She poked me in the shoulder. "_We_ won. We as in plural. We as in, including you."

I looked at her for a moment, caught between bursting into tears and scoffing.

"Well, come on." She grabbed my arm and pulled me down the stairs, giving me no chance to reply.

My eyes did a quick sweep over the basement, and in a single glance I could tell one thing: everyone was already there.

Rachel and Finn were in a corner, kissing like there was no tomorrow. It was faintly disturbing to see how much the giant had to bend just to kiss the hobbit, and I shook my head to clear away the mental image. My eyes moved on to the next couple, the Asian Fusion, dancing wildly in the center of the room as though they knew no limits to space. Frankly, I was surprised the ground wasn't shaking with their insane gestures and lunatic stomping.

"Here." Quinn thrust a cup into my hands, and a single sniff informed me I was holding beer. I took a large gulp, muttering my thanks, looking back at the rest of the New Directions partying around us.

Artie was by the speakers, moving as much as he could to the beat, given his condition. He was drinking from a tumbler, which I presumed contained something like Bloody Marys. Mercedes was sitting in a heap beside him, a straw tucked in her mouth as she mouthed the words of the pop song blasting over the speakers.

"Yo, babe." Puck appeared at Quinn's shoulder, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Santana." He winked at me. "Mind if I steal this one for a moment? I'm all set to bust a move."

I chuckled, pushing Quinn towards him. "Keep it PG." I teased, watching them as they moved to the dance floor and began to dance. I sighed inwardly, backing away into the nearest wall, trying not to look like the wallflower I felt I was. I took a large gulp of my beer just to be able to do something. Then another, then another.

"You might want to slow down there." I turned to my right, where Blaine appeared, leaning casually against the wall. For a moment my mind raced to thoughts of Karofsky, and what had happened in school just that morning. Then I plastered a neutral look on my face and replied,

"Hey." I nodded to the couples dancing on the floor. "Aren't you supposed to be there with your little boy toy?"

He laughed, inching closer. "Don't let him hear you calling him that." He nodded to my cup. "Any reason you decided to declare a race for fastest drinker?"

I glanced down to the cup in my hands, practically empty. I shrugged. "It's a party, isn't it?"

"It certainly is." Kurt slid into the space on my left, handing Blaine a cup while he sipped from his own. "Hello, Santana."

"Kurt." I nodded politely, feeling the beginning of nervousness settling into the pit of my stomach. _Did__ he __hear __about __Karofsky?_

"So I heard a rumor." Kurt began, glancing at me through the corner of his eye. _Apparently__ he __has._

My mouth dried up in milliseconds. This was not a conversation I wanted to have right now. "A rumor?" I echoed.

He nodded, turning around to face me fully. "About David Karofsky."

"Oh." I paused. "Have you?"

Before Kurt could grill me any further, a white blouse suddenly fell across his face, shielding me from the piercing look in his eyes. I was about to feel relieved for the sudden distraction, when I realized to whom exactly that blouse belonged.

"I need another drink." I muttered to no one in particular, feeling slightly nauseated. I headed for the makeshift bar, avoiding the bodies moving around me. I was so terrified that one of them was going to be her.

When I reached the table, I ignored all the beer and reached for the vodka. "Bad idea." I whispered to myself. I didn't even bother pouring into the cup. I just took the bottle and brought it to my mouth. "Bad, bad idea."

/

"Whoa, slow down there." I heard Quinn breath into my ear, pulling the bottle from my hands just as I was about to take my sixth swig. She inspected the bottle, which was already more than half empty. "You don't need to prove anything to anyone. Everyone knows you hold your liquor better than most dudes."

"Q." My voice was hoarse, my vision blurred. Well, shit.

Her eyes widened when she realized where I was heading, and she took me by the shoulders and shook lightly. "No, no." She said in a low voice. "No, Santana Lopez, you are not about to burst into a weepy mess, you hear me?" She looked around warily. "Come on, we're going to go get some fresh air. We need to sober you up. Fast."

"Why?" I said, silently glad when I realized I wasn't slurring. She didn't reply. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me to the door, moving so quickly I felt dizzy. "Q, Q, slow down."

"We can't." Quinn hissed. "She's going to see–"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I interrupted, trying to stop her so I could control the pounding in my head. "Quinn, who the hell–"

"QUINN!"

The voice was far too unique to be mistaken for any other. I felt my spine straightening sharply, my eyes snapping wide open. "Oh, shit."

Brittany threw herself into Quinn's arms, dressed sinfully in a lacy black bra and shorts so short they were practically underwear. I felt as though all the blood in my body was rushing into my head, my knees going weak at the sight of her. Before I got rooted permanently to the spot - with my eyes glued to Brittany's perfectly sculpted body - I turned on my heels, heading for the bar.

"Bad idea." I told myself as I reached blindly for the nearest bottle, without even bothering to check the label. "Bad, bad idea."

/

"S?" Puck poked his head under the table, where I was hiding out in my misery, the bottle clutched tightly to my chest. "Whoa. Are you… uh… alright?"

I tried to bite back the sob that was already halfway out my body. My cheeks felt ridiculously wet, from all the crying I was doing for the past half hour. I took a sloppy gulp from the bottle in my hands.

"Oh, Santana." Quinn sighed, as she poked her right beside Puck's. "Come on, you need to get out of there."

"Can't." I hiccupped, shaking my heavy head with exaggerated slowness. "She'll see me."

They glanced at each other, caught in a silent conversation. I snorted, taking another swing. Puck looked at me nervously "Actually, San, she's…she's…"

"Kind of preoccupied." Quinn supplied in a low voice.

I knew exactly what she meant, and it hurt more than I ever thought it would. I felt more tears cascading down my cheeks as I buried my face into one arm, trying to stifle the sobs.

"Come on. Here we go." Puck's hands wrapped around my arms, pulling me gently out of my hiding place. The bright lights flashing across the room blinded me momentarily, until I blinked adequately to adjust to the lighting. And the first thing my eyes focused on made me feel like puking.

For some odd reason, the first thing I thought was, _Fuck__Hollywood._ Because in real life? There was no slow motion to dull the pain, no sad song to match the scene. There was just the sight of Brittany sitting next to Rory on the couch, her arms wrapped around him as she explored his mouth with her own.

I felt oddly sober all of a sudden, and my senses seemed to have sharpened. I could smell the mixture of alcohol and sweat in the room. I could feel Puck trying to pull me away, his hands slightly damp with perspiration. I could hear Rachel and Finn belting out some cheesy duet from across the room, miraculously still hitting the high notes despite their intoxication. From the corner of my eye, I could clearly see Tina and Mercedes doing little happy skips in circles.

And I could _feel_ everything. Anger, shock, betrayal, heartbreak, defeat. And regret. Regret, so sharp, it felt a thousand blades sinking into my skin, carving out my flesh until all that was left was my mangled, bleeding heart.

She glanced up then, in my direction. When she saw me watching her, she seemed to freeze in place. Rory reached for her, but she didn't turn back to him. She just looked at me with eyes so sad I felt like I was drowning in the moaning sea. She held my gaze until my unshed tears blocked her from my sight, until I finally let go and crumpled.

Puck wrapped his arms around me, pulling me away, up the basement, out the door. I let him set me on the sidewalk, holding me close to him while I bottled up the tears and held in my breath. I felt Quinn's hands on my shoulders when I curled as tightly as I could, forcing down the contents of my stomach.

"Breathe." Quinn murmured, her voice breaking across me like gentle waves. "Breathe."

"It's my fault." I heard myself saying in a hollow voice. "It's all my fault."

"No, it isn't." She shook her head. "Santana, it isn't."

"Isn't it?" Puck said simultaneously, in a low voice. Quinn looked at him with a scandalized look on her face, before slapping him across his arm. He yelped, moving away. "Oh, come on! Seriously." He turned to me, jabbing his finger in my direction. "You could have her. You know you could have had her. Fuck, you already owned her! You screwed this up and you know it."

"Puck!" Quinn exclaimed in dismay.

"He's right." I said weakly, nodding. "Quinn, he's right. I did screw this up. I know I did." I turned to look at him. "But he isn't right about one thing. You think this is about owning over Brittany?" I let out a shaky laugh. "It's about wishing I could have said, I love you. You are the most amazing person I have ever met, the most beautiful to me. I don't ever want to live without you. You changed my life." I felt a single tear slip down my tear.

"You see, Puck, it was never about making her mine." I let out a watery smile. "It was always just about letting her know that I was always hers."


	18. I'll Take You Back III

First, I know many of you have questions. Believe me, I do want to answer them, but I'm hoping you will get your answers as the narration unfolds. Otherwise, I will answer them myself, but only after the whole story is done. I hope that's alright with you guys.

Second, I am sorry if the updates don't seem coherent or consistent. I do know that the story is flawed, but I hope you guys know that I am trying my best. I don't even know how bad this update might turn out to be. Things are very bad right now and I don't know if I will be able to return to school for the next semester.

Third, and most importantly, I am very grateful that you all took the time to review.

*OH, WOW. I CANNOT BELIEVE I REACHED 300 REVIEWS. THANKS. :D*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten [Part Three]: I'll Take You Back<strong>

"_I'm like a bird, I'll only fly away."_

_I'm Like A Bird, Nelly Furtado_

* * *

><p>"Night's still young." Puck murmured not much later, while we sat on the sidewalk, facing the empty street. "We could still go back and make things better."<p>

I felt my lips twitch humorlessly while I focused on inhaling and exhaling evenly. "Make things better?"

"Fine." He acquiesced. "Maybe we can't make things better. But I'm sure it can't get any worse than that, right?"

"Seriously considering breaking up with you right now." Quinn muttered darkly, shooting him daggers with her eyes.

I waved her off with a hand. "Nah, he's right. Besides, this is supposed to be a celebration, remember?" My smile felt fake on my face, but I forced it on anyway. "You guys won Nationals. This is probably going to be the last glee club party for the year." I paused, the weight of my words hitting me squarely in the chest. I tried to shake off the feeling with another fake smile. "Hell, this might be the last party in… a while."

An odd, unsettling quiet descended over us, Quinn and Puck exchanging looks. I felt very old, for some reason. Very old and very tired, as though I had walked a million miles just to get to a destination that no longer existed. Then Quinn said in a quiet voice, "Hopefully not."

"Yeah, well." I murmured, still stuck inside my own head. I gestured back into the house. "You guys better go on ahead."

Two pairs of eyes shifted to me. "Sure?" Puck asked.

"We can wait." Quinn added.

"I'll be fine." I said in a voice that was stronger than I felt, trying to seem reassuring. "Really."

They both stared disbelievingly at me for a longer moment, until Puck exhaled. "Alright." He pushed himself to him feet, offering his hand out to Quinn. When he pulled her up, she turned to me and asked in a worried voice, "We'll see you soon, alright?"

I nodded. "I'll see you soon."

When the door closed behind them, I looked back at the empty street, vanishing back into my mind, trying to process exactly what I had seen back inside Berry's basement.

The first thing I recalled clearly were her eyes. They were deep and dark in a way I had never seen them before, and the desperate, drowning sadness I saw in them scared me. It was that sadness that made her eyes just like a stranger's: unfamiliar, unsmiling, distant. It killed me on so many levels. It almost like I was looking at her without really seeing her anymore.

But wasn't that the point? I asked myself. I wanted her to move on. I wanted her to be with someone who deserved her a lot more than I did.

"I wish feelings had an off-switch." I said out loud. I exhaled deeply, my eyes flickering up to the sky above me. "Maybe then I'll find a way to survive."

I sat there a minute longer, feeling small and lonely in the cold, quiet night. Then with one hand, I gently pulled out the chain from under my shirt, taking out the diamond ring and staring at it for a long moment.

Maybe I wasn't the one letting her go the way I should be. Maybe Brittany was right. Maybe this time, it was really over. And maybe that was just the way things were meant to be.

I wrapped my fingers around the delicate chain and pulled. It gave away easily, falling into my open palm. I blinked away the tears as they came, and gently put the ring into my pocket. Then I got to my feet slowly and made my way back into the party. There was a bottle of tequila with my name written on it.

/

It was a few days after the celebration party, and as seniors we found ourselves caught in a whirlwind of reviewing. We had our big finals coming up and for most of us, it was a last chance to redeem ourselves after a year of horrible academic performance.

At least, that's what I pretended my excuse was for reviewing so hard. Truth was, studying was the closest thing I had to a distraction from the lingering heartache. And hell, I needed a distraction like fucking oxygen.

"Cite advantages and disadvantages of the direct count method using a hemacytometer." Quinn instructed, looking at me from her bed.

I groaned in response, shuffling through my textbook to find the right page, while I jotted down notes on a clean sheet of paper. "I don't know?"

She chucked a pencil at me, smirking when it hit the side of my head. "Come on, bitch. You should know this by now. We have our final exams next week. Next week." She sighed, her gaze shifting to the space beside my head. "After that, we'll be one step closer to graduating."

I shrugged, while I added more important details down my self-made reviewer. "Maybe."

Her eyes moved back to me, studying my silently for a long moment. "It's funny. You've been staying here almost all school year and we never got to have the college talk. Where are you planning to go? Los Angeles? Chicago? New York?"

My hand wavered as I wrote. I felt the familiar burn of tears in my eyes, but I blinked them away. I was doing very well hiding my emotions for the past few days since the party. No chance in hell was I going to break down now. I forced myself to shrug nonchalantly, saying, "Without any sort of parental support, I might not even get to go."

Quinn frowned. "What?"

"I might not go to college." I said in a louder voice, without bothering to look at her. _Write_, I told myself. _Write. __The__re reviewer__ isn__'__t __going __to __make __itself._

"No way." Her voice was shocked. "I mean, I thought you had some scholarship lined up?"

I snorted, silently proud of my ability to hold it together, while I pulled another sheet free. "Please. That was only applicable when I was still Sylvester's minion. Why do you think I re-joined Cheerios this year?" I inhaled deeply and quietly through my mouth, trying not to shake. "Besides, now that I'm no longer eligible to receive it maybe it can go to someone else. Someone who deserves it a bit more."

_Like__ Brittany._ It hung in the air around us, but neither of us said the two words out loud.

"Oh," was all Quinn could say, before clearing her throat. "Well, if you do well in the exams next week you might be able to apply for some academic scholarship somewhere else."

I shook my head. "Q, I've barely been in class all year. I'm sure no teachers would be willing to recommend me for an academic scholarship." I finally looked at her. "You're the one with a shot at that sort of thing."

"If we follow your logic here, I don't think the teachers would be willing to recommend a student who got pregnant in her second year and decided to drastically change her entire reputation for senior year." She countered. "But back to you. Financial scholarship then."

"Oh come on, can you hear yourself? My dad is a doctor. A freaking doctor. There's no chance in hell they'd even bother to read the rest of my application after they see '_Father__'__s__ Occupation.__'_"

"You never know." Quinn pointed out, a thoughtful look crossing her face briefly.

I scowled. "Ugh. Just drop it, okay? I haven't submitted college applications all year. I'll be lucky to even graduate."

She looked at me sadly for a long moment. I let my frown smoothen out before sighing deeply. I looked back down at the reviewer I was creating. I didn't want to ask, but I couldn't help it, either. It was like an annoying itch.

"How are they?" I almost growled, my voice intentionally harsh and rough.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at me, her eyes confused. "Sorry?"

I dropped the pen in my hands and cracked the knuckles there, pretending to take sudden interest in Quinn's wall. "You know, _them_. She and Rory."

I avoided her gaze. She was silent for a moment, before giving in. "Brittany talked to me today. In glee club."

I blinked in surprise, looking back at her. "Oh. The club still meets?" I waited for a moment, but Quinn seemed hesitant to continue. "Q?" I pressed.

She seemed to shrink into her chair. "Yeah, we do. Everyone knows this is the last year we're going to spend in that choir room. And, well…" She inhaled deeply. "She told me she was worried she wasn't going to graduate." She swallowed. "Then she asked how you were."

I paused, my mind still processing the part on not graduating. Then I realized what Quinn said, and I blurted out, "Really?"

"Yeah…" Quinn trailed off, not meeting my eyes. "Then she asked if Puck and I were available for a double date."

I tried not to choke. "I see." I said, trying to pretend that my whole world hadn't just exploded into a million tiny pieces. I felt the tips of my fingers trembling, so I curled them into fists. "That's great." I began, but even I could hear the lack of sincerity in my own voice. "Just fantastic."

"San." Quinn murmured sadly. "It's okay to be upset."

I shook my head vigorously, picking up my pen and writing so deeply into the sheet that the ink bled unto the next one. "Upset? Who's upset? What do you mean, upset? I'm great. Fantastic. Swell. What was the review question again? Hemacytometer?"

"Santa–" she began, in a soothing voice.

"When?" I interrupted, closing my eyes. "When's your big date?"

She paused, obviously trying to gauge whether or not she could distract me with something else. Then she sighed, "Before the exams. Friday night."

I nodded sharply, turning to the sheet and writing notes on Biology furiously. "You should go."

"Santana, I–"

"She's your friend, too." I turned back to her, letting my defenses slip for a moment so she could see the fragility in my eyes. Her breath hitched. "She's your friend, Quinn. You should go."

There was a tense pause while I waited with bated breath. Every single cell in my body was hoping she would just drop it, that she would let the subject go, because I knew I wouldn't be able to take any more. I had scratched the itch and it had turned into a burning blister.

Then Quinn exhaled, her body slumping. She exhaled loudly. "So, that rumor about Karofsky."

I felt relief spreading to the tips of my fingers, but I acted nonchalant. "Nope, not gonna talk about that one. So, hemacytometers?"

/

"I told my father last night."

It was lunch time of the next day. The cafeteria was packed with people, but I always seemed to find myself alone in a table, unless and Quinn and Puck were sitting with me.

"I told him."

I looked from the notes I was writing to Karofsky's face, sober and serious. I sat a little bit straighter and motioned to the chair beside me.

"How did it go?" I asked in a low voice, searching his face. He looked down at his hands, clenched in the table before him. When he looked back at me, there were tears in his eyes. "Dave?" I asked worriedly. He shook his head.

"It's okay." He said, in a breaking voice. It felt like a miracle when I saw the trembling smile forming over his lips. He took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "My dad said it was okay." I could tell from the sound of his voice that he was still stunned, that he was still disbelieving of his father's acceptance. He turned to look at me. "He said it was okay."

I felt my own tears in my eyes, but I blinked them away. I stood up and threw my arms around him, caught in between a weird mixture of feeling intensely happy that someone wasn't going to have to go through hell and extremely sad that I couldn't have had things as easy as he did.

I looked up instinctively when I saw a flash of bouncing blonde hair across the cafeteria.

From the glee table, Brittany was watching us with observant eyes.

/

"So, aren't you glad we finally got our papers back from that history test today?" Quinn asked the next night, while we both sat in her living room, halfway through reviewing Algebra.

"A little bit too late if you ask me." I said, without bothering to look up at her. I knew what she was trying to do, and there was no chance in hell I was going to fall into her trap.

"I noticed you didn't receive any paper." She continued on airily. "But I distinctly remember you being there."

"Quinn." I said through gritted teeth. "Drop it."

"Brittany looked pretty surprised when she got her paper, did you notice?" She continued in a louder voice, making it impossible to drown her out. "She was actually convinced that she wasn't the person who answered her test, but the teacher was just so sure of her dim-wittedness that he thought she just happened to forget she answered everything and got the _highest__ freaking __score __in __class_." She yelled the last five words out at me, while I winced.

"Jesus!" I snapped, jumping to me feet. Frustrated, I began yelling. "Just stop it already. I know it was stupid to switch our tests, alright? But I had to, don't you get that? What do you want me to do? It's not like I ca–"

"I want you to promise that you aren't going to do it again." She interrupted calmly.

"–do anything ab… What?"

Quinn sighed, standing. "Promise me." She moved closer to me.

"What…what do you mean? It was stupid the first time, it's not like–"

"This is Brittany we're talking about." She interrupted yet again. "This is Brittany we're talking about, and you and I both know you have a tendency to do really stupid things when she's involved. So promise me you aren't going to go and switch your test papers again."

I stared at her for a long moment. I didn't even realize I was somehow subconsciously planning to do it again until Quinn confronted me about it. It blew me away to realize how much Quinn actually knew me.

"Promise me." She repeated, taking a step closer. Her eyes were shining with clear resolve.

I felt my throat closing up, but I nodded. Instantly her expression softened, and her lips curled into the beginning of a smile. I never said it out loud before, but Quinn was breathtakingly beautiful, too, in her own unique way. "You're a good friend."

She blinked in surprise, before a warm smiled brightened her face. Her cheeks pinked ever so slightly, but she didn't look away. "You are, too."

I shook my head. "I wasn't there for you. I-" My swallowed. "I was awful to you. When you were pregnant, with the whole Finn thing, and even this year, with the whole punk thing-"

She snorted slightly, coming even closer. "As if I was any better. Those things are in the past, Santana, they don't matter anymore." She wrapped her arms around me and embraced me tightly. "Besides, that person wasn't really you." She pulled back and looked at me seriously. "You're my best friend, you know that? And when I saw you for who you really were behind all the pretending, you gave me the courage to be myself, too." She smiled, before adding in a soft whisper. "Whenever I see the real you, Santana? It makes me realize why Brittany loves you so much."

I bowed my head, trying not to tremble as I blinked away the tears. "Loved." I said in a scratchy voice. "Past tense."

Quinn shook her head. "Loves. Present tense."

/

Regardless of whatever Quinn said, their double date still pushed through anyway.

It was raining furiously on Friday night, raining almost as strongly as the storm I felt inside. I could barely see out the window when Quinn left with Puck, heading to Breadstix, where the other two would be waiting.

It was a deep cut on my heart to know they were going to Breadstix. That was _our_ place.

I was pacing endlessly across the room, trying to calm down. My heart was racing in my chest, pounding erratically like a wild drum. My stomach felt like I had intentionally stuffed it with acidic substances, leaving it to churn in pain.

To know that she was out – right now, at this moment, out at Breadstix, out with someone else – was a brand new kind of torture.

It felt like the tipping point of everything, the final blow that broke the dam. And with each step I took, I remembered more and more all the ways I failed Brittany, the times I gave up trying to fight for her. I remembered all the promises I made and didn't keep, all the things that made me unworthy of her.

I knew she was better off with Rory. So why the hell did it feel like I wanted to run out into the rain and get her back?

It was unbearable, and I didn't know how to fix it.

"Damn it." I whispered in an agonized voice when I reached for the hoodie draped over Quinn's bed. I thrust myself into it. "Damn it, Santana Lopez. Let it go." But I couldn't.

I was halfway through the door when I finally managed to stop myself. Shutting the door as firmly as I could, I resumed pacing around the room, trying and failing to think things through.

But when my eyes fell on the pile of reviewers on Quinn's desk, something seemed to spark in my mind, one promise I'd made that I could still fulfill. It was stupid, but it wasn't as stupid as switching test papers.

I didn't waste time trying to think it through. Brittany was going to be out of her house for at least another hour, and this was my only opportunity to do this. I emptied my bag and threw the reviews into it, before zipping it closed and speeding out into the rain.

Brittany lived across town and it was going to be a long run.

/

I was dripping wet when Kaye opened the door, peering up at me with surprised eyes. "Tana?"

"Honey, who is it?" I heard Mrs. Pierce's voice call, as she made it to the door. When she was me on her doorstep, drenched and shivering to the bone and holding a bag tightly to my chest, she froze with an, "Oh."

I didn't look at her, because I knew I would have just burst into tears if I did. I offered the bag to her.

"Please give this to her." _Brittany_, I was supposed to say, but I knew it would kill me to say it out loud, to someone who wasn't her. Kaye watched me with wide eyes.

"I-I, Santana…"

I pushed the bag into Mrs. Pierce's arms. "You can look through it you want to. But if you love her as much as I do, you'll give this to her."

And without bothering to hear her stuttering reply, I ran back into the rain, letting it wash over me like tears.


	19. I'll Take You Back IV

What if I told you guys that this was the last chapter? :D

Haha. Thank you for your great, great inspiring reviews. Oh, and I had like 20 songs to chose from. I hope you agree with my choice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten [Part Four]: I'll Take You Back<strong>

I got sick.

It was to be expected, I suppose. After running from the Pierce household I ended up walking around the rain, my wet clothes weighing me down like chains. I walked around endlessly – it was kind of a miracle that I didn't get into any kind of freak car accident – until I found myself in the public park. I made my muddy way to the pond and briefly considered hurling myself into it.

But I didn't. Imagining the look on Brittany's face if they discovered my body floating along with the little ducks was more than enough to rein me in.

For the sake of doing something, though, I bent over and plunged my head into the body of water, without bothering to consider how filthy it could be.

When I pulled my head back out to breathe again, I swallowed and sputtered with the unpleasant taste of the pond water in my mouth. Briefly I recalled from our Biology classes just how unhealthy pond water could be, but whatever. If there was bacteria in that water, it was already in my system.

So I just pulled myself up and stood there, the wind howling around me like a wounded wolf. I stood there until my hands were pale, until the rain began to recede. I stood there until my lips felt like icicles, until the rain turned into a gentle drizzle. Only then did I finally make my slow, slow journey to Quinn's house, making it back at the break of dawn.

"Did you try to drown yourself in the rain?" Quinn snapped at me when she threw the door open, Puck standing behind her with relief all over his face. Her phone was clutched in her hand, and she was gripping it so tightly her knuckles were white. "Do you know how worried I was? How worried everyone is? Do you have any idea, any idea what horrific things I imagined in my head? Are you so focused on–"

"Quinn." Puck interrupted, grabbing her arm. "Stop it. She's here. She's alive. That's what matters, right?" I could tell Quinn wasn't ready to let it go just yet, but she deflated anyway.

"Blankets." She instructed, looking at Puck. "Down the hall."

He went off like a bullet, while Quinn began to peel the clothes off me. "It's even worse than Christmas." She muttered, stripping me down to my underwear. "Crap, you're actually pale. _You_ are actually pale. Santana. Can you hear me?"

I opened my mouth to say yes.

But the next thing I remember is seeing black and falling over.

/

It was insanely ironic that I had to get so sick on finals week.

"We need to get you to a doctor." Quinn muttered when she walked into the guest room with a tray with food in it. "Your temperature is insane."

I shook my head, trying to stand. She handed me a bit of tissue, and I blew my nose into it unapologetically. "I need to take my exams today."

"You can't take your exams like this." She hissed, setting the tray down and gesturing at my body. "You're physically sick and emotionally broken. Your mind isn't functioning properly."

"My mind is just fine." I argued, swinging my legs over the mattress. Almost instantly I felt the spell of dizziness come over me, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from puking.

Quinn looked at me pointedly, while I blew my nose again. "You can't come to school. You'll be making yourself even sicker if you don't bother trying to rest."

"I can't." I sneezed abruptly, much to Quinn's revulsion. "You know the school policy, Quinn. If I don't take the exams this week, I might as well forget about graduating."

"Maybe we can talk this over with Principal Figgins." She suggested.

I sneezed again. "He'll just say it was my fault for walking around in the rain."

She mumbled something, but I didn't hear it.

"What?"

She sighed. "I said, it sort of was. Walking around in the rain? Stupid. Dipping your head in the public pond? Gross. You know people throw all sorts of crap into the pond. Animals defecate in that pond. Ugh. People even pee in it."

I dry-retched at the thought.

"See? You can't come to school. You might throw up all over the place."

"Hey, Kurt puked on Miss Pilsbury's shoes once. In the hallway."

"In his defense, he was drunk on alcohol. You aren't drunk on anything but sheer stupidity." She paused. "And you're sick."

"So?" I rolled my eyes, trying to stand.

"So you'll infect other people." She clapped a hand over my shoulder, guiding me back to the bed. "You need to rest, Santana. It's the best I can do for you until I get a doctor in here."

"I'm fine." I tried to push against her hold. Apparently I was a lot weaker than I thought, because I barely moved her an inch.

"No you're not. You're so sick I had to get Puck to move you into the guest room so you wouldn't infect me." She pushed me until my legs connected with the mattress. "S, you need to stay. Think about it. School is packed with students. We don't want you to start an epidemic."

"Let me guess." I groaned, settling into the blankets. "You recently watched _Contagion_."

She looked at me with penetrating eyes. "Yeah. We did. Back in the Pierce household. Although Brittany wasn't with us because her mother called her out halfway through the film, and she never did come back, not even to say goodbye."

We said nothing for a moment, the quiet interrupted only by my sniffing.

"I overheard that the first chick who dies in that film looks just like Ms. Holly Holiday." I commented. Quinn smiled thinly.

"She does."

Another silence lapsed between us. "You never did tell me how your date went." I began.

"I know." She replied, looking away. "Listen, I have to get to class. Take care, alright?" She motioned towards the tray. "And don't forget to eat something. It wouldn't do anyone any good if we added ulcer to your list of afflictions."

"Q." I whispered out to her when she turned around.

"Yeah?" She responded, looking back at me.

"My exams." I said sadly. She gazed back with a defeated look on her face.

"I know, S. I'm sorry. I'll try to find out if we can do anything about it, okay?" She came closer and laid a hand on my forehead. "In the meantime, sleep."

So I did.

/

The next few days involved my body dealing with the sickness the best way it could. On Tuesday, Quinn came by with her family doctor, and he prescribed me some antibacterial tablet I had to drink three times a day. On the same day she told me she had talked to Mr. Schuester about my situation, who had in turn spoken to Principal Figgins.

Apparently, after an entire school year of bad grades, there was no chance on earth that I could take the exams on a later date. I had no option but to repeat.

I felt close to nothing when Quinn told me, in a very soft, steady voice. Her hand found mine and gripped tightly, but all I did was stare at her unblinkingly.

After all, I had already lost everything. What did it matter if I lost a year of my life?

/

_He_ came by on Wednesday, after school.

"S?" Quinn shook me awake lightly. "Wake up. There's someone here to see you."

I groaned, rolling over. "If it's Puck, tell him to go away. I have no room for douchery in my life right now."

"S." Her tone shifted warningly. "Seriously. It isn't Puck."

Grumbling, I turned around and opened my eyes curiously. When I realized who was standing by the door, my entire body jolted awake.

"Hello there." His voice accented and his smile tentative, Rory walked over slowly.

When he was sufficiently close, I lunged myself at him, with every intention to rip his eyes out. Quinn grabbed me by the waistline and pulled me back down, encasing me in her arms. Rory looked startled, the upper half of his body bent backwards.

"Stop." Quinn ordered, tightening her hold. "Santana, stop. You need to listen to what he has to say."

"I don't care what he has to say." I growled, feeling oddly strong. "I. Don't. Give. A Fuck."

"Santana, you've got to calm–"

That was when I lost it. "Calm down? Calm down? The guy who replaced me is within arm's reach and you want me to fucking calm down? The guy Brittany loves is standing here, seeing me weak and sick and you want me to ca–"

"She doesn't love me." His voice was surprisingly loud. My eyes snapped to his face, my heart doubting his words so strongly while wishing so intensely that they were true. Either way, it had the desired effect: I felt the fight punched out to me like a candle extinguished by the wind. Quinn let go of me, and I moved to the headboard, folding my arms across my chest.

"She doesn't love me." He repeated, moving closer and thrusting his hands into his pockets. "At least, not the way you think." Quinn glanced at me once, before standing and slipping out the door, leaving the two of us alone in the room.

I inhaled deeply, feeling weak again. "What do you want?" When he said nothing, I looked up to face him, glaring. I was surprised when he didn't glare back.

Instead, Rory had a very pacifying look on his pale face. "I don't want anything from you, Santana." I realized I never heard him say my name before. "But I do want to you to know that she doesn't want me."

I shook my head, trying to fight down the surge of hope in my gut. "She kissed you in the party."

His shoulders sagged. "It meant everything to me. But I know it meant nothing to her." His eyes looked surprisingly earnest and vulnerable. "I think she sees me like a little brother. Someone to mentor."

I swallowed, still in denial. "You went on that double date."

He shrugged. "It was really more of a friend thing. You can ask Quinn. She'll vouch for me." I stared at him, feeling incredulous. "What?" He asked, frowning slightly.

"I don't get it." I said slowly, dropping my arms from my chest. "You could have Brittany. Brittany Susan Pierce." I swallowed past the pain. "You could have her and your throwing her away?"

His lips curved into a sad smile. "You see, you're wrong there. I can never have her." He moved closer, until he was less than a foot away from the bed. "No one can ever have her. Not the way you do." He sat at the edge of the bed. "Because she only wants you."

I felt my lower lip trembling, and I reached up to brush my tears away. "I hurt her."

He reached forward and took one of my hands, squeezing tightly. "She'll forgive you."

"I pushed her away. Over and over."

He shook his head gently, cupping my cheek with his free hand. "She never left."

"It'll never work out. I've hurt her too much. And there are too many reasons not to do this." My voice faltered. "There are so many ways this could go wrong."

His eyes smiled at me, warm and encouraging. He wrapped both his arms around me and embraced me tightly. And when he spoke into my ear, his voice was nothing but sincere. "And over a million ways it could go right."

/

I woke up late on Thursday, feeling much better than I had the whole week. I was relieved to discover I was strong enough to get into the shower to get cleaned up. And when Quinn came back that evening, I was in the living room with Judy Fabray, and watching reruns of _How__ I __Met __Your __Mother_.

We finished an episode together before Quinn dragged me up to her room, throwing herself into the bed. "I'm so glad the exams are finally over." Her voice was muffled voice, talking straight into a pillow.

"Good for you." I said lightly, trying not to feel let down. She looked at me and groaned.

"Sorry. I'm being insensitive."

I shrugged. "It's alright." I sat down at the edge of the bed. "It was my fault, anyway."

She said nothing for a moment, and I climbed into the bed with her, while she rolled to her back, so we were both staring up at the ceiling. "So…something happened in glee club today."

I turned my head to look at her, urging her silently to continue.

"Mr. Schuester suggested a theme for the week and no one really knew how to respond to it." She continued, her head turning to face me.

"What theme?"

She exhaled slowly. "Regret." Her eyes moved slowly to her wall, her expression telling me she was far, far away. "We were stumped." She admitted. "Then something interesting happened." Her eyes shifted back to me.

"What?" I asked, feeling slightly impatient. "What happened?"

"David Karofsky." She said, watching my reaction with observant eyes. "David Karofsky entered the choir room."

I blinked. "You're kidding." I said flatly.

"Nope." Her lips twisted into a soft smile as her eyes began to swim with tears. "He told us the truth. He admitted everything, and he apologized to Kurt. By the end of it we were all crying." She released a shaky breath. "Then he told us that you helped him." Her smile was watery. "He told us you gave him the courage to accept himself and come out to his dad."

"That's…great." I murmured, tears of happiness pricking my eyes.

Her tears leaked over her temples. "When Kurt stood up and hugged him, and even Mr. Schue was crying like a baby." She paused, wiping the liquid away with her fingers. "And then Karofsky unzipped his varsity jacket and showed us his 'LIKES BOYS' shirt."

I looked back at the ceiling, blinking slowly to keep my tears at bay. "I'm happy for him."

"So are we." Quinn looked at me, smiling. "He and Brittany had a long conversation afterwards, though. I'm not sure why. Anyway, I'm proud of you."

My senses glazed over the first portion of the sentence, focusing solely on the last four words out of her mouth. It was very rare that someone said that to me, and it made me choke up to hear it. "Thanks, Q."

There was a beat in the conversation, while we both got wrapped up in our thoughts. Then she nudged me. "You know what I realized when Kurt stood up and embraced him?"

I shook my head. "What?"

"It's never too late. It's easy to wrap yourself in regret, but it is never too late." She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling when she added, "You can still fix things."

I felt myself tense. "You sound just like Karofsky. And Rory."

"Well…" She kept her voice light. "Maybe it's time for you to listen."

My throat tightened. "I did a lot of damage, Quinn."

"That's true." She agreed, turning to look at me. "But you know what else is true? What you and Brittany have is epic, Santana."

I snorted. "First of, all, _had_. Second of all, come on. Epic?"

She looked at me exasperatedly. "Yeah, epic. Lives changed, people hurt, hearts broken, souls torn, epic."

"Relationships shouldn't be so damn hard." I murmured brokenly. "She's better off with Rory, Q. Or anyone else."

"You still don't really get it, do you?" She sighed. "You say relationships shouldn't be so hard, and maybe that's true. But _love_ can be that hard. Love can be that gruesome." She propped herself on an arm. "Love can be that complicated, Santana. It can be complicated to epic proportions. But it's still love, isn't it? Sure, there are obstacles, and there are moments when it seems impossible that things will work out. But this you and Brittany. And this is epic love between you both? People kill for this kind of thing. People die for this kind of thing." She paused. "So, yeah, it is epic. And you know what? Something this epic can't be ruined by little stupid things you may have done."

"Q–"

"Shut up and listen to me for one second." My jaw shut with a snap. "Yes, you were a bitch. An idiot. You pushed her away when you should have pulled her closer. But those were mistakes you had to make, Santana, mistakes that made you the person you are today."

"This person I am now is pathetic, Quinn."

"No, not true." She disagreed. "The person you are now may not be as tough as you used to be, but if there's one thing I realized these past months, it's that the new Santana would do anything to make Brittany safe. Even if it means breaking both your hearts."

"And that's a good thing?" I asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes, and no. It's a good thing because it taught you to be selfless, Santana. You needed to become the person you are today, for example, to help Karofsky out of the closet. You needed to become the person you are today to help me get over myself. You needed to become to person you are today to realize just how much you would do, just how far you would go, to do what you thought was best for Brittany."

"And that's bad because…" I trailed off.

"Because in your process to keep her safe you forget one crucial thing: to keep her happy."

"Too late for that."

She shook her head adamantly. "No, Santana, that's where you're wrong. You think the past few months prove how unworthy you are of her, but the truth is, the past few months have been transforming you into the person who may be truly worthy of her."

I gaped. "So, according to your logic, I'm worthy of her now because I hurt her?"

"No, of course not. You're worthy of her now, because losing her the way you did taught you just how important she is in your life."

"I'm sorry. I'm confused." I blurted out. "Could you repeat that?"

There was a pause, before she frowned slightly and confessed, "I'm confused, too. I'm no good at explaining this."

We looked at each other and burst into laughter.

"Point is," she said around chuckles, "you can still fix this." She poked me hard in the ribs. "You should at least tell her how you feel, Lopez. Think about it."

And later on, just before drifting off to sleep back in the guest room, I did.

/

I dreamt about her that night.

She came into the guest room while I was sleeping, looking down at me tenderly while she sat on the edge of the bed. She held me tightly to her while I felt her tears wash over my face. She brushed the messy hair off my face with her warm fingertips, humming _Songbird_ lightly. She pressed a lingering kiss to my temple, whispering "Come back to me, San," in my ear.

I woke up to the sound of a door closing.

It was only when I was falling back to sleep that I realized I could smell the scent of vanilla and chocolate thick in the air.

/

The choir room fell silent when I walked into it the next day.

"Santana!" Mr. Schuester exclaimed in surprise. He was leaning against the piano, musical sheets in his hand. "How-how are you?"

Everyone stared at me, waiting for my reply. From the corner of my eye I could see Blaine and Kurt watching interestedly, Quinn and Puck leaning forward in anticipation. Rory was giving me thumbs up, while Rachel smiled at me eagerly from the first row. Everyone else just looked perplexed. I avoided looking at Brittany for the moment, still gathering the resolve I needed to do what I wanted to do.

"I'm going to sing something." I declared, in a shaking voice. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I want to sing something."

Mr. Schuester, still looking stunned, moved to sit at the back with the rest of the club. The piano man looked confused, but I just shook my head.

"I'm singing acapella." I informed him. He raised his eyebrows, but just shrugged.

I took a steadying breath and turned to face her. Her face was bright with intrigue, her eyes wide and curious. I sent her a tentative smile, testing the waters. The small smile she sent in return made me feel high with hope.

"There are many things I regret about this year." I began, wringing my fingers together. "Many moments I'd like to take back and change." I stared deeply into her eyes, watching the emotions as they ran through her stream of consciousness. "I know that all the things I've done were unforgivable. But I want you to know–" I stared at her pleadingly, ignoring everyone else in the room, "–that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for them."

I saw her swallow. Inhaling, I allowed myself to soak into the myriad of emotions that had consumed me since Sectionals, and I began –

_When__ the __rain __is __blowing __in __your __face, __and __the __whole __world __is __on __your __case, __I__ can __offer __you__ a __warm __embrace, __to __make __you__ feel __my __love._–

My voice sounded scratchy and unused, and in the absence of accompaniment it was particularly prominent. But I ignored what I sounded like and focused on letting her feel what I was singing, because I meant every single word –

_When__ evening __shadows__ and __the __stars __appear, __and __there __is __no __one __there __to __dry __your __tears,__ I__ could __hold __you __for __a__ million __years,__to __make __you __feel __my __love._ –

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a loving look, their hands finding each other. Finn smiled at Rachel, who wrapped her arms around him, tears already streaming down her face. Tina laid her head against Mike's shoulder, and Puck pressed a chaste kiss on Quinn's cheek. But all I could really see was Brittany's face.

Her lower lip began to tremble, and a pink hue gently coated her cheeks. I felt my lips tugging into a straight line, my eyebrows scrunching together as I fought back the tears –

_I__ know__ I__ haven__'__t__ made __my__ mind __up__ yet. __And__ I__ know__ I__'__ve__ done__ you__ wrong.__ But__ I__'__ve__ known__ it__ from__ the __moment __that__ we __met:__ no__ doubt__ in__ my __mind __where__ you__ belong.__ I__'__d__ go __hungry,__ I__'__d__ go __black __and __blue.__ I__'__d__ go__ crawling__ down__ the__ avenue.__ No,__ there__'__s__ nothing__ that__ I__ wouldn__'__t __do,__ to__ make__ you__ feel__ my __love._–

My voice caught in the lump my throat and I spent agonizing moments trying to swallow past it. Then, in the silence penetrated only by the sound of my attempts at swallowing, Quinn began to hum the tune.

I turned to face her gratefully, just as the rest of the New Directions began to harmonize along. I looked back at Brittany just in time to see a single tear run down her cheek –

_The__ storms__ are__ raging __on__ the__ rolling __sea,__ and__ on__ the __highway__ of__ regret. __The__ winds__ of__ change __are__ blowing__ wild__ and__ free.__ You__ ain__'__t__ seen__ nothing__ like __me__ yet._ –

I clasped my hands together. I swallowed a sob, missing the next beat. But the club continued to hum anyway, patiently waiting for me to recover.

"I-I'm sorry, Brittany." I choked, taking a step closer. I realized I was shaking. I looked down for a moment, trying to gather some composure. "I'm so sorry." She began to cry earnestly then, and I finished in a trembling voice –

_I__ can __make __you __happy, __make __your __dreams __come __true. __Nothing __that __I __wouldn__'__t __do.__Go __to __the __ends __of __the __earth __for __you,__ to __make __you __feel __my __love._–

I stared deeply into her eyes, trying to make her feel everything I wanted to say. I knew this was my last chance. –

_To make you feel my love._

I bowed my head to take several steadying breaths, and to wipe the tears lingering under my lashes. I felt someone throw an arm around me. Quinn embraced me tightly, murmuring comforting words in my ear, while Puck stood beside her, nodding reassuringly. Rachel followed, throwing herself to my free side, and before I knew it the entire club had wrapped themselves around me, reminding me why glee club used to be the best part of my day.

But when I looked up to the seat where Brittany was supposed to be, an empty chair stared back at me. I looked around frantically, but there was no sign of her. She was gone.

I thought I knew then what heartbreak meant. I was wrong.

It was worse, somehow. Heartbreak wasn't even the right word to describe it. It wasn't like my heart had shattered into a million, tiny pieces. It was more like my heart was being crushed, slowly and systematically, drawing out the pain as long as it could take before I finally gave in and died.

It wasn't like my soul was being ripped apart either. It was like my soul was being eaten out, being gnawed on by sharp, sharp teeth, from the inside going out.

I didn't even realize how hopeful and confident I felt until her rejection was slapped across me like a price tag. _Damaged __& __Rejected __Goods_, the tag said. _Brittany__'__s__ Damaged__ &__ Rejected__ Goods_.

It didn't matter after all, whether we were soulmates or not. It didn't matter that I loved her so much it was killing me, or that maybe she did love me back, too. It didn't matter that Quinn believed that what we had was epic. Or that Rory thought I still had a shot. Or that Karofsky thought I could still fix things.

It was over. I was too late. I had made too many mistakes. I had hurt her too much, and now I had to live with the consequences.

I closed my eyes in a poor attempt to dull the pain, latching myself unto Quinn so I wouldn't collapse. When I opened them again, everything had faded into black and white.


	20. Epilogue

Of course I wasn't serious about that being the end. I love Brittana way too much, and in a way I need them to be happy because it's the only way I really feel anything anymore.

I heard that this story was being recommended on sites like tumblr. (I wouldn't know, I stopped opening my tumblr so I could avoid all the spoilers). If that was you, thank you very much. I am very honored.

Before I move on to goodbye, I'd like to ask for your help. First, for all the professionals out there (whatever profession/career: psychiatrist, psychologist, teacher, doctor, nurse, engineer, writer, painter, photographer, whatever), if you have time, please send me a PM with your particular profession. I may need your advice.

Second, for all those who are in homophobic environments: how do you deal with it? If you have relatives who can't deal with it, how do you get them to accept you / get over the pain of rejection? Especially when, and I quote, "this is the only thing I didn't want you to become?"

Alright, enough of that. Now on to the goodbye.

I love you all, and I want you all to know that writing Setting Rain On Fire, The End Is The Beginning Is The End, and Lover Dearest has helped me through very, very difficult times. Thank you all so much for your reviews and alerts.

It seems very selfish, but I want to dedicate to myself, because I need to find that spark in me that used to believe in happy endings. Maybe if I keep writing about them, one day I'll remember what being in a happy story feels like.

I wish you all the best, Brittana fans. I hope you all live long, happy lives.

* * *

><p><strong>EPILOGUE<strong>

**Part One**

_**Oh, take me back to the start.**_

The world was nothing more than a silent, black and white film, and I just treated myself to a full show of the graduation I wasn't part of.

In the quiet of my car, I couldn't stop crying. If I were honest with myself, I'd admit that some part of me didn't want to stop crying, either. The entire year had reduced me into a weepy, hysterical, weak mess, and for once I was going to let myself cry completely, without trying to calm down or shut up.

It didn't make the pain feel any less, but it didn't make it feel any worse, either, and I figured that was a monumental achievement. Especially after the horrible past two days I had endured after the _choir__room__incident_ – as Quinn called it – it was amazing that I finally managed to do something that didn't feel like a knife to my windpipe.

Eventually, though, even the tears run out.

I didn't want to think about it, and maybe that was the problem, because how could I avoid something so inevitable anyway? It was like pretending I could extinguish a roaring fire even if I was drenched in kerosene, or saying the sky was lime green even if it was nothing but a white void to me.

I told everyone I didn't want to think about it, but it was all I thought about anyway. And no matter how much I thought about it, I always ended up feeling exactly the same.

And that feeling I always ended up feeling? The God damn awful feeling? It was a composite of a whole bunch of feelings I couldn't even distinguish from one another. Whenever I remembered that moment, there were bursts of such strong, unidentifiable emotions that coursed through my veins, spreading evenly throughout my entire body.

I couldn't control it.

One of the few things I did know was that it wasn't about the embarrassment of getting walked out on, or the humiliation of being rejected in front of other people. It was about me finally taking the blind leap only to get shot down. I poured my soul into my hands, and turned myself inside out, exposing myself completely to vulnerability.

And the one thing I dreaded the most happened.

Maybe it would have been better if she said no. Maybe I would have felt a little less in pain if she came up to me and slapped me across the face. At least then, she would have rejected me directly, and my feelings might have been less conflicted.

But to slip away the way she did – to vanish like a fleeting moment, to disappear without a word – it was driving me crazy. What the hell was she thinking? What the hell was she feeling?

Why the hell did she just leave?

And to top it off, wasn't that just what I wanted? Where were all my justifications now that she was really, truly gone? Where the hell did all my talk on what's-best-for-Brittany go?

The sound of knuckles rapping against my window made me jump in my seat, my head snapping out of my tear-soaked hands. I blinked the away the remaining tears, realizing that there were several people standing outside my car, all out of their graduation gowns, waiting patiently for me to roll down my window.

What the hell?

"Santana." Her voice may have been muffled by the glass between us, but I could still clearly hear Quinn's concern. "Please open the window."

Shaking my hands slightly to retrieve full control over the muscles there, I rolled down the window. "Hey." I said weakly, attempting a pathetic excuse for a smile. "Congratulations. I'm proud of you guys."

"Yeah, we know." Puck cut me short, stepping from behind Quinn. "Now get out of the car."

I gaped. "I–what?"

"I think what Noah is trying to say is that we would be very happy if you left your vehicle so we may escort you to our final glee club meeting of the year." Rachel piped up, barely visible from my point of view. "It is imperative that you come with us now so we may alter, for the best, all the wrongdoings that you and Br–"

"Rachel, quiet." Blaine interrupted in a surprisingly commanding voice. He came over to stand behind Puck's shoulder. "Hey, Santana." He gave me a small wave. "We were wondering if you could come with us for a bit. There's something that we want to show you."

I tried to smother the optimism that was beginning to flicker in my heart. Swallowing, I looked at Quinn, hoping to communicate without words the confusion I was feeling. She just smiled.

"Hey, Lopez."

Quinn threw a glance over her shoulder and stepped out of the way. Karofsky came into my field of vision, wearing a huge grin on his face.

"Hey back." I answered reluctantly, looking up at him in confusion. "What's going on?"

His smiled grew even wider, if that were even humanly possible. "We can't tell you right now. If it's alright with you, we'd rather show you."

I swallowed apprehensively. "Look, Dave, I…I don't know if I can handle any more surprises. My brain might just start bleeding out."

Quinn reached into the car and grasped one of my clammy hands. "Trust us, S. This is one thing you do not want to miss."

I looked around, trying to find a potential escape route. But when Puck began to crack his knuckles threateningly, I deflated.

"I look horrible." I pointed out, looking pleadingly at Quinn.

"What are you talking about?" She asked incredulously. "You're beautiful."

Karofsky nodded in agreement.

I shook my head slowly. "I-I'm scared." I admitted quietly. "I'm way over my head here. I have no idea if I can handle it, Q."

Quinn and Karofsky shared a glance. Then she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze and promised, "Well, this time we'll be there to handle it with you."

I looked past them to see the encouraging faces of Blaine and Rachel, and the threatening look on Puck's. Sighing inwardly, I pushed the door open. Right on cue, Blaine handed me a neatly folded piece of tissue, which I used to bow my nose. He handed me another one so I could wipe the traces of tears on my face, then another just so I could crumple it in my palm.

Then Quinn began to steer me back into the school, taking me straight into the lion's den, the rest of the group marching along behind me.

My heart was fluttering when the choir room came into view. Quinn gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before Karofsky pushed the door open for me.

I had about half a second to see a million possibilities flash before my eyes, all the things I thought could be behind that door. But in none of them did I expected–

"Santana!" Mr. Schuester called out, standing when he saw me. I stole a quick moment to run my eyes through the choir room, but the person I was looking for didn't seem to be around. "We're very glad you could make it." He came over and clapped a hand over my shoulder, looking down at me in a gaze that I could only describe as fatherly. "There's someone here who has something important to say."

He pulled me into the room, leading me to a chair in the front row. I forgot how excited he could be when something was about to happen. It was nice to remember.

"Take a seat." He was about to turn around and leave, but he turned back to me and gently laid his hand on my shoulder. "Just listen with an open heart, alright? I know you both have a lot of things to sort through… But if you listen with an open heart, you'll find it won't be so hard to fix things." He sent me another fatherly look. "Give yourselves a chance."

"Uh…thanks, Mr. Schue." I replied. He just beamed again and walked off to join the rest of the club, who had all congregated to one wall, standing together in silence. They were all looking at me with different degrees of encouragement, which was a lot more unnerving that it was reassuring.

Then the door opened with a quiet click, and there she was.

**Part Two**

_**I'm still yours, faithfully.**_

She didn't look as bad as I knew I looked.

She made her way to the center of the room. Each of her movements made me think of winged fairies lingering in the twilight, leading weary souls to their homes. Her hair fell around her in straight, golden streams, framing her slightly pinked face perfectly. Her lips were full, as they curved into a tentative smile. Her eyes were almost impossibly blue. They met mine within a second, and I could read nothing in them but startling clarity and resolve.

"Santana." She said in a tiny voice, as she came to a stop in front of me with a tiny hop. "Hi."

It was amazing, really, how her voice set me completely at ease. Four syllables from her and I felt my inhibitions leaking out of me, as though all the poison of my doubts and fears were being sucked away. I barely even noticed as the other occupants of the room began to slowly make their way out.

"Brittany." I replied in hushed tones of bewilderment. I struggled to keep my emotions in check. It would have been insanely annoying to me if I burst into tears all of a sudden. There was one thing that I wanted to say, though, one thing that stood out more than any other. "I'm proud of you." It was the most honest I'd been with her in a long, long time. "I'm really, really proud of you." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in.

"Thank you." She said in an earnest voice. Her eyes went downcast. "I wish I was proud of me, though. I mean, I am. But not really."

I sat, stunned. When she didn't explain, I stood up and slowly made my way to her, until we were just a foot apart. Bottling all my hesitations, I exhaled, "Why not?"

She looked at me with tear-filled eyes, and the sadness there robbed me of my breath. "Because."

I felt my mouth drying, fear suddenly punching into my consciousness. "Because what?"

She bowed her head. I wanted so badly to touch her, but I was afraid: I felt like the slightest pressure from my fingertips would shatter the image of her into a hundreds of fragments. "Brittany, please."

"My mom told me." She whispered brokenly. I watched as a single tear slipped past her lashes and down her face. "My mom told me what she told you that night, after Sectionals."

My body tensed. I remembered my painful conversation with Mrs. Pierce, and I felt the old wound in my heart flare hotly. I took a deep breath to keep the pain at bay. I almost didn't hear Brittany when she continued,

"I can't believe she would do something like that." Her voice was even smaller, and dripping with so much hurt I felt like I was suffocating with all the emotion. "And I'm ashamed." Her head dipped even lower. "I'm so ashamed."

"Brittany." I whispered, shaking my head and simultaneously taking a tiny step closer, until I could feel the heat of her body warming mine. "Please don't say that."

She shook her head frantically, but she didn't move away. "You needed a mother." Another tear ran down her cheek. "You needed a mother to tell you it was alright. And I thought my mother would be there for you. That's why I let her talk to you." She let out a strangled cry. "But she wasn't, and it's my fault she said all those mean things to you."

It was my turn to shake my head. "Brittany, it wasn't, alright? It wasn't. Your mother was trying to protect you. It's just what mothers do." I closed my eyes briefly. "She would have told me to back off one way or another."

Her blue eyes lift to mine. "But…why did you let her?"

I swallowed, looking away. My own shame filled me faster than falling in quicksand, and all the reasons why I pushed her away flooded back to me.

But Brittany could see that I was back getting lost in myself, so she raised her hand and grabbed mine, anchoring me to the moment. It was exquisitely painful. "Why did you let her?" She repeated, delicately intertwining our fingers so finely I could feel the warm, steady beating of her heart.

My eyes travelled from our hands between us to her eyes, trying not to cry. "How could I say no?"

"I don't understand."

Inhaling deeply, I blinked away tears. "This was your mother, Brittany. The one woman who is the reason why you exist. The woman who raised you to be who you are. And I fell in love with the person you are. If there's one person in the world who could love you more, if there's one person who could make you happy more, it's her. How could I say no that?"

"Oh, Santana." She breathed, looking infinitely sad. My heart did flips at the sound of my name on her lips. Nothing had sounded so sweet in a long, long time. "My mother could never love me the way you do. And I'd never want her to."

I shook my head, feeling suddenly anxious. "But it wasn't just her, was it? There was my fucking father and all his threats, all those stupid bullies and the horrible things they could do to you. How could I still walk up to you and tell you I loved you if I knew all the things I would be putting you through?" I felt angry tears spring into my eyes. "How could I say to your face that I would do anything to keep you safe and happy when I knew I couldn't?"

The sudden motion of her hand cupping my jaw caught me off guard, and I found myself staring at the intensity in her eyes. "Why didn't you ever tell me any of this?" She asked, the pain in her voice resounding in my soul. It demanded an answer. "Why didn't you ever come to me, and tell me?"

"Because I wanted you to move on!" I yelled hysterically, wrenching myself away, almost falling head-first to the ground. Her arms wrapped around my midsection to keep me from the collision, and to prevent me from moving away. "Because I _needed_ you to move on. I needed you to find someone who could do for you everything I couldn't. I needed you to be with someone who would be worthy of your love, in all the ways I could never be."

"How could you say that?" She asked, her voice strained. She flipped me around so we were face to face, and I saw how pale she was becoming. "How could you even think that?"

"Because it's true." I said weakly, giving in to the tears. "You…you're perfect, Brittany. You're _perfect_. I'm nothing. Nothing but a mess."

She shook her head. "No." She declared, even if her own tears were falling freely. "I'm not perfect." She cupped my cheeks in her hands and pulled me closer, until space was nonexistent and we breathing the same air. "You are amazing, San." Her words pierced something inside me, bringing dead parts of me back to life. "Even when you try so hard not to be, you are." I could see all the different shades of blue in her brilliant bright eyes, blending together like waves in the ocean. "And I know that no matter what I say, you'll still believe somewhere deep inside that you are a mess. But that's okay, San. We can be a mess together."

Then she kissed me.

All the moments I kissed her the past year flashed in rapid succession behind my closed eyelids: after Sectionals, in front of her mother, on New Year's Eve, on Prom. I remembered them in bafflingly clear detail, until I realized that I was reliving each moment one last time so I could finally let them go.

I guess it was like being purged. My mind needed to be emptied of all the painful memories so I could have room for new ones. Maybe even happy ones.

"I'm sorry." I whispered when she pulled away to inhale deeply. She didn't reply, but her eyes were expressing so much forgiveness, I understood. It was my lifeline.

She pressed our foreheads together so I was seeing nothing but alluring blue. "I was so scared that maybe you didn't want me anymore." She admitted in a soft voice.

I pulled away from her involuntarily, like a chord was tugging me back. "Oh, Britt."

The little shrug she gave made me see how insecure I'd made her feel. She said in a painful whisper, "You told me you didn't want to be with me."

"I'm sorry." I murmured again, closing my eyes in anguish.

It hit me then, as quick as a lightning bolt and as hard as a head-on collision from free-fall. This was it. This was the one chance. This was the moment, the one that would define us both. The one that would make or break everything.

I opened my eyes again, looking straight into hers.

I raised my hands and gently took her face in my hands, holding her close to me. In my mind, I imagined reaching down into the deep waters of my soul and pulling out the one thing that I knew was true. The one thing I knew would always be true. "Britt, I will always - _always_ - want you."

**Part Three**

_**The sky could be blue. I don't mind.**_

_**Without you, it's a waste of time.**_

"I never got to thank you for all those reviewers."

We were sitting on the floor with our backs to the wall, facing the piano. We were barely touching, except for our hands clasped together in the space between us. She was holding on so tightly I could barely feel anything in my fingers, but it was alright, because it was what she wanted. And even if I didn't say it out loud, she knew that it was what I needed.

I shrugged, calm washing over me in soft waves. "Of course." My eyes closed.

"Though I wish you didn't go running in the rain to give me the last set." She continued, her voice taking a note of disapproval. "I mean, you have a car, right? You didn't have to get so sick."

My eyes opened slowly. "Oh. I kind of forgot about my car."

She snorted. "And Quinn told me what you did with my history test."

"She did?" I asked meekly, glancing at her through the corner of my eye.

Brittany nodded. "She called me yesterday, even if I already kind of figured it out by then." She looked at me seriously. "I want to tell Principal Figgins."

"No." I blurted out, trying to squelch the panic rising in my chest. "Please don't."

She frowned slightly. "Why not? That was your grade and you deserve it."

I shook my head, forcing myself to keep calm. "Telling him would put me into a lot of trouble." I explained. "And I'm already waist-deep in shit."

A tiny sigh left her lips, and she relieved the pressure in my hands ever so slightly. "Why'd you do it?"

I looked at her and stared for a long moment. "You wanted to graduate."

She frowned in confusion. "So?"

"You wanted to graduate." I repeated. "And I promised you I would help. I…I wanted to be there for you somehow. We were so far apart, but I still wanted to help you get away."

Her frown faded into understanding. "Oh, San." Brittany whispered, reaching forward and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "You're so silly."

I blinked, feeling slightly put off by her reaction. "What do you mean?"

"You never got it, did you?" She smiled. "I wanted to graduate because I thought you were going to graduate. Get it? I wanted to graduate, only because I wanted to graduate with you." She paused, peering at me. "I wanted to get away with you."

My face was so numbed, I didn't even notice when the tears were pooling in my eyes. Or when they were running down my face.

"Don't cry." With her free hand, she tenderly wiped away my tears, her smile loving. "The time to cry is done, San."

"'M sorry." I said thickly, trying to stem the flow of my tears. I laughed shakily. "I just… I'm being stupid. Sorry."

"You aren't." She admonished gently. "But its okay, San. I guess I'll just have to wait another year before we can get away together, right?"

I shook my head, even as my heart filled with hope. "I can't let you do that." I whispered, closing my eyes.

"Why not?" She asked, her voice filled with sincere confusion. "I want to wait for you."

"I-I can't, Britt. I can't weigh you down like this." When I opened my eyes to face her, she was frowning slightly.

"How can being with you weigh me down, San?" She traced my jaw with the tips of her fingers. "Whenever you look at me like that, you make me feel like I'm flying."

I smiled, leaning my head back and studying her face like I would be seeing it for the last time. "I want you to chase your dreams, B. I want you to go out there and set the world on fire. You've got so much to give, and staying in this stupid town wouldn't be good for you."

She shook her head, smiling again. "But I have a plan, silly."

Feeling stupefied, I choked, "You do?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I'm moving out of my parents' house." She said swiftly. "I love my family, but I don't think I can forgive my mom for what she did." Her voice was subdued, but strong and firm. She paused to think, scrunching her eyebrows together. It was adorable to watch. "And I already know you're going to need to find a place to stay because Quinn's going to go to college, so I figured we could move in together." When I gaped at her, she added hurriedly, "If you wanted to."

I looked at her in amazement. "But…money."

She beamed. "Coach Sylvester asked me to be the Assistant Coaching for the Cheerios. I think she figured out that I wasn't going anywhere without you. And I don't know much about money, but when a check has four digits in it, that's a lot of money, right?" She shrugged again. "Whatever. We can figure it out."

"B, I…" I swallowed. "I don't deserve this. You're sacrificing way too much."

"What are you talking about? It's only a sacrifice if I feel like I'm giving something up."

"But you are. You've got dreams, Brittany."

She shook her head insistently. "You still don't get it, do you, San?" She reached forward and took my hand, pressing it to her heart. "Can you feel that? That's for you. That's because of you." She smiled. "I'm not sacrificing my dreams, San. I'm just chasing the one that matters the most to me: You."

I felt her heart pounding beneath my fingertips. Each beat seemed to send a wave of overwhelming emotion crashing over me, drowning me in a whirlpool of feeling.

"So what do you think about the plan?" She asked patiently.

"I…" I let out a shaky breath. _Fuck__it__all_, I thought. _Just__say__it._ "I love you."

Her heart sped up under my hand, and a beautiful blush crept to her cheeks. "Oh yeah?"

I nodded once, smiling. "Yeah." I retracted my hand from her chest slowly.

"That's great. Because there's one more part of my plan. A big part." She slowly let go of my hand and reached deep into her pocket. "I found this in the bag you left for me with the reviewers. At first, I thought it was your way of saying goodbye for real." She took her hand out of her pocket, her hand in a tight fist. "Then you sang that song for me, and it felt so much like you really did love me that I got confused for a while."

"Was that why you left?" I questioned, sense dawning on me.

She nodded. "I was so confused and I wanted to think on my own for a while. So I left. I'm sorry that I made you feel bad, though."

I shook my head. "I've made you feel worse."

She said nothing for a moment. Then standing abruptly, she offered her free hand to me. "Now, up." She commanded.

I put my hand in hers, and she pulled me to my feet. "I wanted to do this a long time ago, but when I thought I was losing you I kind of panicked and did it the wrong way," She explained, pulling me back excitedly to the center of the room. "But now, I feel like the moment is right. Actually, it's perfect."

"Perfect for what?" I asked, slightly dazed.

Instead of replying, her face transformed into a mysterious smile. "Wait here for a sec." She let go of my hand and bounded to the door, sticking her head into the outside world and calling out, "Hey, guys. It's time." She bounced back to me with so much positive energy, I had to laugh.

The members of the New Directions – plus Dave – entered the room, moving to stand behind Brittany, all wearing matching expressions of anticipation. Quinn beamed at me, and Karofsky gave me a delighted thumbs-up.

"San." Brittany began, taking a deep breath. "We have many memories in this room." She looked around her, at the group of people standing behind her with their full support. "Important memories. Good memories." I felt myself nodding along in agreement. "But we also have many bad memories." She continued in a much softer voice, her eyes glazing over for a moment. "Many times we hurt each other. Many times we didn't really understand each other."

My heart filled with ache for a moment. Then she smiled, and the ache was replaced with butterflies. "But I don't want you to remember all those sad times, San. So…" She grinned infectiously. "I'm going to sing to you. I'm going to sing to you one last time, and hopefully, I can erase all the bad memories."

She threw a small glance over her shoulder. I looked too, and I was surprised to see Blaine sitting at the piano, his hands poised and ready. Brittany gave him a tiny nod, and Blaine set his hands on the keys and began to play. She turned back to look at me –

_Hello, world, hope you're listening. Forgive me if I'm young, speaking out of turn. There's someone I've been missing. I think that they could be the better half of me. They're in the wrong place, trying to make it right. Well, I'm tired of justifying. _–

I wrestled with myself to keep from crying.

I always believed that music was the language of emotion. And now, standing in the choir, surrounded by, arguably, the only people I could only truly be myself with, listening to them sing their hearts out to me, I was soaking in pure, unadulterated feelings. Feelings only Brittany could make me feel –

_So I say to you, Come home. Come home. Cause I've been waiting for you for so long, for so long. Right now there's a war between the vanities, but all I see is you and me. My fight for you is all I've ever known. So come home. _–

I closed my eyes for a moment and bowed my head, silently thanking whatever higher being was out there for giving me another chance. When I opened them again, she had taken a few steps towards me, slowly closing the distance between us. With her free hand she took one of mine, squeezing tightly –

_I get lost in the beauty of everything I see. The world ain't half as bad as they paint it to be. For all the sons, all the daughters: Stop to take it in. Well, hopefully the hate subsides, and the love can begin. It might start now, or maybe I'm just dreaming out loud. _–

She stopped singing, but the rest of the club behind her continued on. I spared a quick glance at Karofsky, who winked at me. It was true, he could sing. Pretty damn well, too.

"Santana." Brittany called to me, and the sound was heavenly on her lips. I looked back at her, and she squeezed my hand, looking seriously at me. "There are many things in this world that I don't know. I don't know math. I'm bad at history and I suck at science. But there is one thing in this world that I do know a lot about. There's one thing in this world that I care enough to know about." She gave me a small smile. "And that's you." –

_Well, until then. Come home. Come home. Cause I've been waiting for you for so long, for so long. Right now there's a war between the vanities, but all I see is you and me. My fight for you is all I've ever known, ever known._ –

Keeping my tears inside was turning more and more into a losing battle and she continued, "I know you're hurting. I know you're angry. Angry at your parents, angry at the world, angry at yourself. I know that deep inside, you feel so small."

She inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment. It blew me away to see her so serious. "And I know that you think you aren't worth my time. I know that you think that I deserve so much better. I know you think you can't keep me safe, or happy. I know that you're still afraid. And I know that you think you aren't good enough to make me stay forever." –

_So come home. _–

"But you are worth my time. And I don't deserve anyone better, because there is no one better for me." She smiled warmly. "I don't care whatever the world does to us, as long as we face it all together, San."

She ran her fingers slowly through my hair. "You're the one. You're the only one. I know you're scared, and that's okay. I can be here to help you remember that you're strong, too. That you're brave. That you matter. That you're beautiful. And when I tell you now…" She slowly dropped to one knee, still holding on tightly to my other hand, "…that I will be here forever, I mean… _forever_." –

_Everything I can be is everything you should be, and that's why I need you here. Everything I can be is everything you should be, and that's why I need you here. _–

She opened her fist to reveal the diamond ring she had given me on my birthday. For a split second it felt like every single function in my body just shut down, before restarting with a quick snap. Oh, my God, my mind said over and over. Oh, my God.

"And I know we're not perfect. I know we're not what the world says we should be, but I don't care what they say because they're not important. You're what's important. You're the dream that I want to turn into a reality." She said, her face shining with a strength I'd never seen there before.

She pressed a single kiss to the knuckles on the hand she was still holding on to. Her lips were warm, soft and real against my skin, and it was crazy how I felt ready to spontaneously combust. "You're the home I never, ever want to lose again." Her eyes were shining so brightly, like candles guiding me in the dark. "I love you, Santana Lopez. And I want to spend the rest of my life reminding you that every single day." –

_So hear this now. Come home. Come home. Cause I've been waiting for you for so long, for so long. Right now there's a war between the vanities, but all I see is you and me. My fight for you is all I've ever known, ever known. So come home. Come home._ –

She didn't really ask, so I didn't really say yes. I couldn't anyway.

So instead I released her hand, dropped down to my knees, and cupped her face in my palms so I could kiss her. I couldn't say yes, so I let her feel it instead.

She embraced me so tightly it almost felt like we were two entities fusing into one. Emotions were flowing freely between us like water breaking open a dam, and I felt everything neither of us could really put into words. Her forgiveness tore down all the doubts lingering in my being, and broke apart every dark corner in my soul. And her love ignited sincere trust in my mind, and filled my heart with blinding light.

When she slipped the ring into the rightful finger and the crowd behind her burst into whoops and applause, she was the only person I cared enough to really see.

Because she was right. The rest of the world didn't really matter.

It was crazy that I had to go through a year of sheer agony to realize it, but I suppose what mattered was that I did get to realize it at last. And it was insanely amazing that after a year of frenzied push-and-pull, we somehow managed to meet each other somewhere in the middle, bodies bruised and battered but hearts still faithful and willing.

"I'm yours." She whispered passionately. "Always."

I cried. I couldn't help it. "Proudly so." I said as steadily as I could. "I'm yours, Britt. Proudly so."

She embraced me again, our hearts pounding together to the same frenzied beat.

She was my world. And it was great to know that, despite all the stupid things I'd done all year, I was hers, too.

_**fin.**_

**The dog days are over.**

**The dog days are done.**

**The horses are coming,**

**So you better run.**


End file.
